


tre di un tipo

by MVforVictory



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, And kinda sad, Bottom Nakamoto Yuta, Canon Compliant, Choking, Dom Lee Taeyong, Dom Suh Youngho | Johnny, Eventual Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Kim Jungwoo is a Little Shit, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mark is Yuta’s Emotional Support K-pop Boy, Miscommunication, Nakamoto Yuta is Whipped, Nakamoto Yuta-centric, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Panic Attacks, Sad Masturbating, Sad Nakamoto Yuta, Sub Nakamoto Yuta, Subdrop, Suh Youngho | Johnny Has a Big Dick, Threesome - M/M/M, Unrequited Love, Yuta deserves love but he’s stupid, Yuta getting taken care of bc he deserves it, Yuta’s Belly Button Piercing, but for a good reason, established johnyong, even tho I know Yuta doesn’t use it half the time lol, gratuitous use of the term ‘hyung’, tbh switch Yuta but, there’s a depressing lack of Yuta-centric content so, yeah idk how that happened either
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:46:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27197348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MVforVictory/pseuds/MVforVictory
Summary: Yuta didn’t know when it started.No, he didn’t know how he could haveletit start.For a second, just for a second, Yuta almost let the words ‘I love you’ fall from his lips, but he bit his tongue and swallowed the words, trying to ignore how bitter they felt going down.Maybe Yuta was a bit more fragile than he thought. Maybe he was a bit deeper in than he could manage. Maybe this was one of the worst decisions Yuta’s ever made. There was no way he could ever return to living without Johnny’s scalding heat. Or Taeyong’s reassuring coolness.Or, a relationship in three parts.
Relationships: Kim Jungwoo & Nakamoto Yuta, Lee Taeyong/Nakamoto Yuta, Lee Taeyong/Nakamoto Yuta/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Lee Taeyong/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Mark Lee & Nakamoto Yuta, Nakamoto Yuta/Suh Youngho | Johnny, Nakamoto Yuta/simping, mentioned Jungwoo/Taeil
Comments: 104
Kudos: 352





	1. uno

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RinAngel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RinAngel/gifts).



> lol HI again. it’s me. 
> 
> have 33% of this simpy sad Yuta garbage for his birthday 
> 
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The Kick It promotions were not friendly to Yuta.

_“F-Fuck, hyung! Harder!”_

Yuta didn’t think he was going to get to sleep tonight. Not with everything crowding his mind right now, or with the ambiance of Taeyong getting railed through the wall. 

He could hear every creak of the mattress, every grunt Johnny let out and every gasp that was pulled from Taeyong’s lips in turn.

_“Does that feel good, Taeyong-ah? Does hyung feel good?”_

The headboard hit the wall. Yuta had to bite down on the base of his thumb to keep his own noises silenced. He could feel the sweat beginning to collect on his skin, beading up before slowly rolling down. 

Donghyuck’s gentle snores echoed around the room, making Yuta feel absolutely fucking disgusting as he snaked his hand under the blankets and into his pants to palm over his half-hard cock.

_“Hyung—Please, please. R-Right there—Ohh—”_

Whining softly, he pushed up into his hand before giving into the temptation and just shoving his boxers down to free himself as he continued to grind upward against his palm. If anything, he had only managed to make himself feel more urgent, more desperate, leaving him to roll over onto his stomach so he could rut his cock against the mattress.

On second thought, Yuta snatched his discarded sweats to ball them up under his hips. He’d rather have his own clothing be cum-stained than the hotel sheets he was sleeping on. 

_“Hyung’s fucking you so good, Yongie. Just like you deserve.”_

He’d known they were together for a long time now, Yuta had been able to see the looks sent between them for years at this point. Taeyong and Johnny were two sides of the same coin, they balanced each other out perfectly. They fit together perfectly.

Yuta didn’t know when it started. No, he didn’t know how he could have _let_ it start. When he couldn’t stop thinking about how Johnny’s shoulders flexed under the lights in the practice room—Or Taeyong’s long fingers, ink-stained and wrapped around a pen as he scratched lyrics into his notebook. Yuta wondered what those shoulders looked like covered in nail scratches, or how far those long, spindly fingers could reach inside him.

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Thinking about the warmth of their bodies, pressed together, breathing the same air as they moved in tandem. He couldn’t stop thinking about just how big Johnny was, how he’d feel like he was being split in half the moment the older man pressed into him.

He wondered if Taeyong felt like that, or was his body so perfectly formed to Johnny’s that it was like second nature to be connected so intimately? Yuta didn’t know if he would ever experience something like that.

A chill made its way down his spine. He felt feverish, almost. Aching and empty as he listened to Taeyong’s raspy voice crying out as Johnny continued to fuck into him.

Yuta didn’t know who he was more jealous of. 

His heart began to beat in his ears as he stroked himself to full hardness, gathering his knees under his body to give his hand room to work, smearing the pre-come that was leaking out his cock along the shaft.

The moans grew louder, more frantic. Yuta found himself looking over to the bed on the far side of the room again, checking to make sure that Donghyuck was still peacefully asleep before reaching out to pump a handful of lotion from the bottle sitting on the nightstand.

He slicked his fingers up, still straining his ears to catch as much as possible of what was happening on the other side of this wall. He wondered if Johnny had Taeyong on his knees, or maybe on his back—which is what Yuta would have chosen. He’d want to see every inch of Taeyong’s face as he pressed into him. Every tear that rolled down his cheeks from the pleasure.

And then he couldn’t help but think about Johnny’s heavy weight against his back, like it was only natural to include the other when thinking about one. He wondered what Johnny would say. If he would breathe praises into Yuta’s ear like he did to Taeyong, or if he would call him lewd names in the most saccharine-sweet voice he could manage.

Just thinking about it was enough to draw a ragged breath from his throat. Yuta traced around his rim with the pad of his middle finger, imagining it to be Taeyong’s as he pushed it in, going straight to his knuckles with barely more than an airy moan. He didn’t stop thinking about Taeyong’s fingers, but couldn’t help when thoughts of Johnny’s joined. Thicker. Not quite as long as Taeyong’s, but both probably much more satisfying than Yuta’s own. 

He wondered how they would feel. Stretching him open. Fucking into him. How many of Taeyong’s could fit alongside Johnny’s. Yuta wanted that. He wanted to feel both of them pressing inside of him, rubbing his aches away from the inside-out.

A second finger joined the first, scissoring just enough for him to comfortably move them as he searched for the best angle, wanting it to be over but never wanting it to stop. Yuta could listen to them for hours. He has before.

Moving dorms had been nothing short of a reprieve for him. No longer did he share a wall with either member of the couple, not when he didn’t even share a common room with them. He didn’t have to listen to them going at it after practice, in the odd hours of the morning when they thought everyone was asleep—when everyone _should_ have been asleep—but Yuta could do nothing but lie awake, one hand wrapped around his cock and the other shoving his fingers as deep as he could manage inside himself as he bit down on the blanket between his teeth.

It burned. Just thinking about it.

When they got together. How it was non-stop tension between them, before suddenly, it was gone. Yuta had been so confused, had always wondered where the heat had gone between them, until one day he had walked in on them clashing teeth and pulling hair in one of the practice rooms and fled before either had the chance to even notice him.

They’ve wised up since then. At least, they have in public.

Taeyong’s panting turned to whining, his voice taking on that high-tone Yuta could only associate with the rapper’s building orgasm now, so he slicked up the hand that wasn’t buried two fingers inside himself and returned to stroking his own cock, all the while wondering what Johnny’s looked like disappearing inside their leader. Again. And again. And again.

 _“S-So close, Youngho. So close,’’_ He heard Taeyong pant through the wall, Yuta’s breaths syncing with the unsteady rhythm without him trying.

There was a final gasp from him, a final groan from Johnny, before Yuta spilled into his hand, cum covering his fingers and sweats and even his stomach, too close to the throbbing bar embedded into his skin.

Panting, he half-assedly wiped his fingers on the fabric below him, doing an even lazier job of cleaning the cum from his stomach before rolling back over. He could still hear them, basking in the after-sex haze. Where Taeyong turned even more nurturing and Johnny’s voice took on an even lazier tone.

Yuta didn’t want to hear it anymore.

Donghyuck was, miraculously, still knocked out. Had he woken up, Yuta would have been not only disgusted with himself, but absolutely mortified at the unit maknae catching him jerking off to their two groupmates having sex.

He knew he should shower, change his clothes, hide the soiled sweats in the bottom of his luggage for him to ignore until he was back in the safety of his own dorm, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t find it in himself to get up. Couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Yuta continued to stare at the clock on the bedside table, watching the red 1:59 flip into the 2:00 he found himself blinking at, feeling the seconds slip through his fingers as his brain continued to replay the noises. Every grunt. Every whine. Every moan. Every _please._

A quiet knock sounded, giving Yuta only enough time to yank his boxers back up under the covers before Taeyong was letting himself inside the room.

Damn leader and his damn possession of all their key-cards.

“Yukkuri?” Taeyong softly called, as if checking to see if Yuta was still awake. He must have been doing his rounds, then. Something he had taken to doing before he fell asleep after Jungwoo had managed to lock himself and Taeil out of their room one night in Phoenix.

“Hmm?” He hummed, only loud enough for Taeyong to hear it as he pulled the covers up past his nose, trying to ignore the ache in his chest at the sound of Taeyong’s light footsteps drawing closer.

“Oh, Yu. Why are you still up?” 

Taeyong took a seat on the edge of the bed, just in front of Yuta’s curled up legs, to card his fingers through Yuta’s messy, long hair. The same fingers that Yuta had just gotten off thinking about. The same fingers that may very well have been circling Johnny’s cock just a few minutes prior.

“Headache,” Yuta lied, closing his eyes as Taeyong continued to pet the lavender streaking his hair.

Taeyong let out a small noise of sympathy, one that made Yuta’s skin crawl as he curled up even tighter. “Do you think you’re going to be okay to perform tomorrow?” The leader asked, “I can see if one of the managers is awake and has something you could take.”

“S’fine. It’ll be gone tomorrow. I just need to sleep it off, I think.”

“Are you sure?” Taeyong asked again, “I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

Yuta had to stop himself from snorting. That was rich, coming from him, but Yuta made sure to look Taeyong straight in the eyes as he tried to smile, “Promise, Yong. I’m—”

“You were crying.”

“What?” Yuta blinked, almost lifting a hand from under the blankets to brush along his eyes before remembering what he had just been doing, not fully confident there wasn’t still cum or lotion on his fingers. 

Taeyong didn’t really give him a chance to dwell on that for much longer, as the leader reached forward to do it for him, thumb gently gliding below his eyes as his fingers curled over Yuta’s cheekbones. The ghost of a touch, and Yuta wanted more.

“Was it because of the headache? Was it that bad?”

Yuta felt himself sink into the feeling of cool hands and Taeyong’s calloused fingers, muscles tense in an effort to not shake under the older man’s focused stare, “It was, but really, you don’t have to worry. It’s better now. Really. M’okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Yuta snapped, “I said I was sure. Why can't you just leave it at that?”

He felt sorry as soon as Taeyong’s dark eyes widened, the shock in them clear as anything before breaking his gaze under the guise of checking to see if Donghyuck had woken up. “Right, I’m sorry,” He apologized, standing from the bed in one smooth motion, “Good night, Yuta. I hope you feel better tomorrow.”

Yuta couldn’t even bring himself to say anything as he watched Taeyong walk back out the door.

///

Fuck everything.

That was Yuta’s current mentality. Fuck. Everything.

Fuck this song. Fuck this show. Fuck these outfits. Fuck Taeyong. Fuck Johnny. 

Fuck Jungwoo’s ridiculous ability to sense any sort of sexual tension, and fuck his ridiculous desire to work tirelessly to bring it to a head, whether it be for better or for worse.

Fuck Jungwoo. Brat.

There was no conceivable reason why he needed to push Yuta out of the way— _‘Move! I really need to pee, hyung!’_ —with a hand directly over his fresh, and still fucking painful, piercing. Only to have him land in Johnny’s lap.

He winced, blinking the tears from his eyes as he tried to breathe through the few seconds of biting pain stabbing him in the stomach, only to realize where he was and who he was on top of. 

“Jesus, hyung. Sorry,” Yuta grumbled, clambering off of Johnny’s lap as fast as he humanly could. “Fucking Jungwoo.”

Johnny’s eyes narrowed slightly at the hand Yuta held protectively over his middle, “It’s been a few weeks since you got it pierced. Is it still bothering you?”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

He was being rude, he knew he was being rude, and he could only hope Johnny was willing to give him a pass because he was hot, he was irritated, and he was in pain.

Yuta was pretty sure his piercing was getting infected with the amount of makeup and sweat covering his stomach at any given moment on stage, making it throb in time with the base-line of a song that he was beginning to hate. Add the too-bright lights constantly blinding him and causing his headache to reappear, even worse than the night before.

Not to mention having to see Taeyong in that god-awful shirt, suffering at the sight of his sweat-slicked skin and not being able to touch. 

But at least he was _wearing_ a shirt. Johnny managed to get away with just the piece of fabric draped across his shoulders. Yuta wanted to lick up and down his abs. And he _hated_ it. 

He should be more cautious of the cameras constantly on him, but Yuta was finding it hard to care about something like that with all of his aforementioned ailments. He wanted to go home, take a shower, and jerk off until he was out of cum or tears. Whichever happened first.

The performance sucked. Yuta loved their fans, honestly, he did, but he knew for certain he wouldn’t have been able to last another song up on that stage with everything going on, or with Jungwoo (fucking asshole) constantly pushing him in Taeyong’s direction.

He knew something was up—there was no doubt about it. Yuta needed to talk to him and figure out just how much he knew, and if he happened to hear Yuta crying either Taeyong or Johnny’s name when he fingered himself in the shower, well, that would be a problem.

Leading him to corner Jungwoo just after the performance, backing him into one of the empty set rooms with an exasperated huff and weak glare following, “What are you _doing?”_

“Whatever could you mean, hyung?” Jungwoo asked, not even making an attempt to hide the shit-eating grin from his face.

“You know what I mean, Woo,” Yuta groaned, dropping his head into his hands to rub at his temples, “I don’t know what you’re thinking, or what your goal is, but I can tell you one thing. You need to knock it off. I’m not about to come in between Taeyong and Johnny’s relationship just because you want to have a bit of fun, okay? So, please, just. Stop.”

Jungwoo’s eyes softened, the smug look slipping off his face, “Hyung, with all due respect, you’re being dumb.”

Yuta could only gawk.

“They _like_ you.”

“Shut up,” Yuta countered, “Seriously. Don’t even go there. I’m really not in the mood. There’s nothing going on, there will continue to be nothing going on.”

He didn’t give Jungwoo the chance to respond before walking away. He wanted to go home, and he wanted to go home _now._ He wanted to laze around and sexile Taeil so he could jerk off in peace and not have to worry about the eldest finding him crying _someone’s_ name into a pillow as he came. He also just really wanted to get drunk. Really. Fucking. Drunk.

They had another schedule in three days for KBS Music Bank, and nothing in between except flying back, sleeping, and drinking his problems away until he inevitably has to see the two subjects of his troubles at the next performance.

He couldn’t wait. 

///

He really couldn’t wait.

Yuta had been _so_ lucky to be sat next to Jungwoo and Johnny on the fucking plane.

Jungwoo hadn’t even made it an hour into the flight before throwing himself around Yuta and Johnny’s laps, complaining about how he had no leg room and wished he was with Taeil so he could stretch.

“If you want to be with Taeil, go see if someone will switch,” Johnny huffed, kicking Jungwoo’s legs away from his. Plane rides were when Johnny’s patience stretched the thinnest, citing that the change in pressure messed with his head and his legs were never not cramped up. 

Jungwoo’s eyes widened, as if Johnny had just told him the secret to solving all his problems in life, “Hyung, you’re a genius! That’s _perfect.”_

Causing too much noise, pulling too many eyes their way, Jungwoo bounded up and out of his seat to squeeze through the aisles to get to Taeil. Yuta couldn’t believe him.

No. That was a lie. He absolutely could believe Jungwoo, and Yuta knew there would be no point in chewing him out later, because it wasn’t like he actually _did_ anything. Arguably, quite the opposite.

All he did was leave Yuta with Johnny. On purpose. 

“He’s a character, huh?” Johnny mused, shaking his head in fond exasperation before turning the look to Yuta, “Why don’t you move over here? I know Taeyong usually prefers the aisle seat.”

Distracted by Johnny’s lips, Yuta felt himself begin to nod before the other’s words truly sunk in, “Taeyong?”

“I can only assume. Considering he’s right there.”

Yuta turned to look back in the direction Jungwoo had scurried off to, and sure enough, Taeyong was apologetically making his way past several people to get to the now vacated seat.

Yuta changed his mind. He was going to murder Jungwoo when they get back.

Not once has Yuta survived a flight next to Taeyong without the leader falling asleep on his shoulder. Not once, and he had little faith this would end any different. 

“Hey, Yuta,” Taeyong cautiously greeted him, making Yuta flush in embarrassment as he remembered his earlier snapping at the leader, “I hope you don’t mind me sitting here?”

He hated the uncertainty causing Taeyong’s voice to waver, and he hated knowing it was him that put it there, that had caused the older boy’s hesitation as he smiled down at Yuta.

“Of course,” Yuta mumbled, getting up to shift his weight into the middle seat, immediately able to feel the heat of Johnny’s body from the few centimeters that separated their arms from touching, and those centimeters only came from Yuta keeping his arms crossed and pressed close to his chest.

He wasn’t quite so lucky with Taeyong.

“I’m sorry, Yuta.”

“W-What?” Yuta turned, taken aback at the apology, to look at Taeyong, “Why? If anything, I should be the one saying that, considering I’ve been acting like a jerk for the past few days.” He felt Johnny’s hand settle on his knee, thumb gently rubbing over the material of his jeans, and it took every ounce of willpower for Yuta not to flinch back from the weight.

“Yeah, actually,” Johnny started, “We wanted to talk to you about that.”

And this was where everything was going to go even farther downhill, spiral down and down and down until it hit rock bottom. They’ve noticed how Yuta’s been looking at them, practically drooling like a bitch in heat in front of everyone, and it was a problem. Or maybe, maybe Taeyong noticed something last night. Maybe he noticed how Yuta’s breath hitched at just his touch, maybe he could smell the arousal in the room from Yuta’s loss of control last night.

Yuta didn’t know what they could possibly want to say to him that wouldn’t be bad, wouldn’t end in an argument or, worse, losing two of the greatest friends he could have ever hoped to have.

Two friends that he didn’t really deserve, but Yuta was greedy. 

He was greedy and wanted more than he was allowed to have. More than they had to give when they had already promised everything to each other. 

“Can we finish this later? I don’t think talking here is a good idea,” Yuta stalled, knowing he had zero intention of continuing this when they returned to Korea, “I just want to sleep, honestly. Sorry.”

“Yuta—”

 _“Please,_ hyung, drop it for now. I’m just really not in the mood.”

Johnny removed his hand from Yuta’s leg the second he had uttered the word _hyung,_ the honorific sounding so foreign coming from the Japanese man’s lips. There had never really been a point when Yuta had called anyone beside Taeil ‘hyung’ and meant it as more than a joke, leaving Johnny and Taeyong with matching looks of surprise.

Taeyong was the first to compose himself, “Okay. I’m sorry for badgering you so much lately. I just worry about you, about _all_ of you.”

The emphasis wasn’t lost on Yuta. He understood what the leader meant loud and clear. He cared about Yuta, yes, but it was in the same way he cared about all of the members. Yuta wasn’t anything more than that to him, and he should be okay with that.

If he were a stronger person, a better person, he would stop getting in their way, stop imagining himself between the two of them and stop making things awkward. The tension weighed heavy on all of them. Yuta had a feeling it would continue that way for the rest of the flight.

He barely heard Taeyong’s whispered _‘rest well’_ as he slid his AirPods into his ears, letting whatever song that came on shuffle first drown out Johnny’s sigh as he pulled his hood as far over his head as it would go.

///

In hindsight, Yuta probably should have known it would happen from the beginning. Granted, that would have meant facing the facts laid out in front of him, but Yuta preferred to ignore the signs and red flags to just pretend. Pretend that everything was going to end up okay, just for a little while. 

He should have known. He should have stopped himself from falling before it was too late, but Yuta was never good at holding back from his desires.

Maybe, if he thought hard enough, he could pinpoint the exact moment he fell for each of them. 

No, Yuta knew he could.

Johnny had been the first of the trainees to look past Yuta’s narrowed eyes, the first one to make an attempt to get to know anything about him, even with Korean as neither of their first languages.

Johnny, who was always one step ahead of the rest, always having a remark for anything. Yuta learned that he was never not listening, even when Yuta wasn’t talking. Johnny was always silently observing—Too quiet for how loud he could be. 

He had been the first person to make an attempt to get to know him, and Yuta could do nothing but bask in the warm glow of comfort Johnny’s light provided. 

Johnny, who had already been at the company for years, had been the first one to see Yuta cry. Instead of teasing him like the Japanese boy thought he would, Johnny had pulled Yuta into his arms—in one of the most secure hugs he’d ever experienced, even to this day—and whispered, _“It’s okay, it’s going to be alright. We’re here for you,”_ as if Yuta would break at any second.

Because he _knew._ Johnny had known the feeling better than anyone else. What it was like to feel lost, upended and uprooted from everything you’ve ever known, all to chase a dream that may not come true. 

That. That was when Yuta first thought, _‘Yeah. I could fall for him.’_

And he did.

Yuta had spent the days following that encounter skittish and desperately avoiding Johnny for the sake of his own dignity, hiding away for nearly a week, too embarrassed from having the older boy catch him crying over being homesick.

It wasn’t even like Yuta could blame anyone but himself. After all, _he_ had been the one to audition, _he_ had been the one to convince his parents to sign the papers, convince them that he would be fine on his own.

He may have been able to convince them, but he was never quite able to convince himself.

Yuta tried to stay away, really, he did, but Johnny’s pull was too strong, and Yuta was helpless to it as he found himself constantly orbiting the taller boy. Their interactions were strained, mostly on Yuta’s end, until Johnny had pulled him away to one of the convenience stores late into the night, asking Yuta if he had done something wrong.

Explaining it was even more embarrassing than Johnny witnessing it. Yuta was so used to being on his own at that point, that he didn’t really remember how to interact with people anymore.

Johnny had just smiled at him, “That’s okay. You can relearn with me!”

So, it only made sense that he latched on to the first person willing to form a bond with him, right? Johnny was nice, and he took the time to ask Yuta about his day, like he truly _cared._ He was there to explain Korean phrases that Yuta just couldn’t grasp, without making him feel like an idiot for not getting it. He asked Yuta, red-cheeked and shy, if that younger boy would help him in Japanese because he was struggling.

Johnny was everything Yuta loved. Johnny was a perfect balance of cheeky and respectful. He was smart, but so endearingly dumb sometimes.

So it was no shock when the feelings had started to blossom, tucked into his heart as they took root, spreading through his ribs and wrapping around his lungs. Taking away his ability to breathe every time Johnny smiled at him.

He wasn’t the only one, it seemed, but that was no surprise. Most of the trainees looked at Johnny like he hung the moon, like he painted each individual star.

Yuta was nothing special.

With Johnny, Yuta had fallen hard, and he had fallen fast. Taeyong had been the exact opposite.

Yuta didn’t really like Taeyong.

Taeyong was everything that almost kept Yuta from joining the industry. Aloof and cocky and so full of himself and his own appearance, Yuta feared his head would get too big for his body. 

Every time he saw the other boy, constantly being praised for doing _nothing,_ Yuta wanted to sit him down and pick apart every single flaw. He wanted to do to Taeyong what he did to himself, when he was alone with only his thoughts to keep him company.

The thoughts that let him know every single ugly part of himself, and how he should get rid of it to be better—until he was perfect. Making him want to discard any piece of himself that would be deemed unworthy, submerge it underwater until it stopped struggling so Yuta could finally be _free._

Which only led to resentment. Against Taeyong, against himself, against Johnny for picking Taeyong over him time and time again. Building up until there was no more room in his heart for bitterness.

And then, just like everything else in Yuta’s life, it all came crashing down.

There was no real moment Yuta could separate from the others—After all, their friendship had started in a rather unconventional way. Namely, Mark.

The three of them had all joined the same year, but very little interaction had been made for the first few months together, outside of when Yuta would see Mark with Johnny or catch Taeyong in one of the practice rooms, until the fateful day that started it all. The beginning of the end, Yuta supposed.

It happened during the one week Johnny had taken to fly back to Chicago, not present to act as a buffer for Yuta’s abrasive personality, Mark’s awkwardness, and Taeyong’s aloofness.

Yuta had been in one of the practice rooms, one of _several_ empty practice rooms, when Mark had stumbled in. Red-faced and out of breath.

Yuta almost wanted to ask why he couldn’t just pick one of the other rooms to use, but Mark beat him to it.

“Is—Is Johnny-hyung h-here?” He stumbled around the words, breaths not coming any slower as he held himself up against the doorframe.

“No?”

Barely another moment had passed before the Canadian’s knees gave out and his body collapsed onto the floor. 

In the time it had taken Yuta to get to the hyperventilating boy, Taeyong had come bounding around the corner, just as out of breath as Mark had been and with more emotion on his face than Yuta could ever remember seeing. 

“Markie? Can you hear me, baby?” Taeyong pressed his palms gently over the youngest’s pink cheeks, “You gotta breathe, okay? Listen to hyung. Breathe.”

Mark’s eyes gained just enough clarity for them to focus on Taeyong, trying to take in a stuttery inhale, only to choke it out with a wheezy cough. “C-Can’t—”

“Yes, you can. Mark, listen to hyung. You’re going to be okay.”

Feeling like an outsider, Yuta had slunk out the door without another word, leaving Mark with Taeyong. Someone better equipped to handle such a situation, seeing as Yuta had frozen the second Mark’s knees hit the wood.

It was just another show of how Taeyong was _more_ than Yuta was, more than Yuta could ever hope to be.

He just never expected to find himself in Mark’s situation. Chest tight and lungs feeling seconds away from collapsing in on themselves as Taeyong’s wide, brown eyes stared down at him in concern.

“Yuta-ssi? Are you hurt?”

Yuta wanted to snarl at him, push him away, tell the Korean to leave him alone. Yuta didn’t need help, he didn’t need _pity._

But the breathless feeling wasn’t going away, and Yuta could quickly see the black-haziness creeping in along the corners of his vision. His voice sounded far away, but still it managed to echo around his ears with more force than he knew he had in him.

“Yuta,” Taeyong gently called his name, his fingers ever so softly ghosting over Yuta’s buzzing skin, “I need you to breathe.”

“N-No _shit,”_ Yuta wheezed, closing his eyes and dropping his head back against the mirror. Taeyong let out an airy chuckle, like he couldn’t believe the younger boy was still trying to butt heads in the situation they were in.

His ears rang as he tried to take in another lungful of air—not for Taeyong, never for Taeyong—because he was certain he was going to pass out if he didn’t. His efforts were met with a struggle, choking in surprise as long fingers laced through his own and _squeezed._

“Breathe in and squeeze my hand, just like this. Slowly,” Taeyong instructed. Yuta had no choice other than to follow, trying to give the same amount of pressure as he drew in another choppy breath, feeling it rattle in his chest as Taeyong gave him a relieved sigh.

Yuta hated how the words truly did help to calm him, how Taeyong’s fingers felt like they fit too well between Yuta’s own clammy ones, how Taeyong stayed to help him, even after Yuta had screamed at him to leave.

Taeyong was too good. So much better than Yuta could ever hope to be.

“There you go. Take it slow, I’m not going anywhere.”

And he never did.

///

“—ta. Yuta. Wake up.”

Yuta groaned, shoving his face into the pillow his cheek was pressed against, and then groaning _again_ at how solid it felt before lifting a hand to scrub at his eyes.

“We’re gonna be landing soon,” Mark’s blurry face came into view, “I figured I should wake you before the turbulence did.”

“Right,” Yuta closed his eyes as his head dropped back against the seat, exhausted despite having slept for most of the flight, to offer the Canadian a tired grin, “Thanks, Markie.”

Yuta had barely survived the first flight, nearly 4 hours of pretending to sleep, too anxious to _actually_ sleep because he was too busy hanging off of every word that fell from Johnny’s lips, too busy holding his breath every time Taeyong’s fingers danced too close to his knee.

Halfway through, Taeyong’s head dropped onto his shoulder.

The layover had been enough time for Yuta to calm himself down in the bathroom, locking the door and ignoring his phone until his manager texted him his second warning.

The next flight had been the reprieve Yuta so _desperately_ needed, seating him next to a very tired Mark and an equally-as-exhausted Jaehyun. Two people he trusted to not badger him with questions he couldn’t bring himself to answer.

Yuta didn’t have to say a single word. Mark took his hand with a small smile and pulled it slightly, guiding Yuta to be pressed against his body to rest his head against the rapper’s shoulder.

The three of them drifted in and out. Sometimes Yuta could hear Jaehyun and Mark talking quietly about the recent schedules, or when Mark would doze off and Yuta would be awake to laugh at Jaehyun as he clumsily spilled grape juice on his hoodie.

It was nice to be reminded that he didn’t have to work through everything alone.

///

The second Yuta was able to drop his bags off in his room, he grabbed the bottle of lube from his drawer and stomped off into the bathroom, ignoring both Jungwoo and Taeil’s calls for him.

He wanted to rid himself from the sight of Taeyong and Johnny sharing a too-tender kiss the second the managers had left them alone in the dorms after giving the details of their upcoming schedules. 

Yuta wanted it gone, but the sight seemed to have burnt itself into his memory. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Johnny’s hand resting on Taeyong’s lower back, he saw Taeyong’s fingers gently scratch at the nape of Johnny’s neck. He saw everything he couldn’t have. Shouldn’t wish for.

The water was freezing as it beat against Yuta’s back. He breathed out, forehead pressed against the forearm he had braced against the shower wall, eyes squeezed shut as his other hand pressed between the cleft of his cheeks. Slick fingers prodded at his entrance, creating a pressure Yuta was all-too familiar with as images of Taeyong’s knuckles and Johnny’s palms flooded his mind.

With the amount he’s done this recently, two fingers slid in with enough friction for him to feel it, but not enough for it to really hurt. Maybe that was a sign that he’s found himself in this position too often.

Yuta wasn’t quite willing to admit that to himself, not yet.

He was a liar—to himself, first and foremost—Yuta was a liar.

It would never matter how small, how insignificant they had started, because dishonesty was dishonesty no matter how you looked at it, and Yuta had been a faker from the minute he signed his name on that contract.

Words were words. They only held as much weight as someone was willing to put in them. Yuta’s words had never felt as hollow as they did now.

He came, crying out names that burnt his lips and scratched his throat, realizing that liars never made peace with a happy ending.

There was no reason he would be any different.

///

Yuta had never meant for it to come to this, but once the thought hit, he couldn’t get it out of his head. It festered, eating at him from the inside out. He wondered how it started, between them, and why Yuta wasn’t enough for either of them.

No, he knew why.

Taeyong and Johnny had always been fond of each other, in a completely different way than with any of the other rookies. They touched more, hands lingered in places that almost didn’t seem appropriate when thought about too much. 

Yuta could remember watching as Taeyong, their newly appointed leader, rested his head in Johnny’s lap as he scrolled through something on his phone. That was nothing out of the ordinary, Yuta did that with Mark all the time, but it was the way Johnny’s eyes looked at him, softer than Yuta could ever remember seeing them. 

Taeyong had been stressed beyond belief back then, even still, to the point that his hair was beginning to fall out, his eyes seeming more hollowed out than before. He always said he relied so much on the support he had then, and Yuta—naively, _selfishly_ —had always prided himself as being part of that. 

Looking back on it now, he knew that not to be the case. Not when Taeyong had Johnny.

Yuta knew what it was like to feel like the whole world had their teeth at his throat, ready for the slightest sign of submission to strike. He was no stranger to the comments about his attitude, or his place as an idol and how he just didn’t _fit in_ with the others.

He understood, but Johnny and Taeyong did too, and they had each other to talk to. Why would they need him?

Yuta didn’t want to look at Johnny and see the love in his eyes that was only ever directed at Taeyong. He didn’t want to think about the kisses shared between them when they thought no one was looking. He didn’t want to think about how perfect they were for each other. 

Thinking about it only caused a stabbing pain in his chest, a physical ache that hurt worse than anything he could remember feeling. A constant, dull throbbing that distantly reminded him of two very different, yet very distinct, heartbeats.

Yuta didn’t know how much more of it he could handle—Watching Johnny walk away from him to press himself against Taeyong’s back, feeling the pool of guilt growing in his stomach as his heart sank down to meet it.

The jealousy was even worse. 

No, not _jealousy._ Envy.

Jealousy was the fear of losing something you already had, afraid of it being taken away. Yuta had never had Taeyong, had never had Johnny, not in the way he wanted.

Yuta was envious. 

///

“You look like shit.”

“Not now, Doyoung,” Yuta waved him off, “I’m really, just, not in the mood right now.”

Doyoung ignored him, pushing forward to press his palm flat against Yuta’s forehead, “You look like you have a fever.”

“No. I’m just hot because of this damn jacket.”

“Okay,” Doyoung’s eyes narrowed, “Then you _feel_ like you have a fever. Why didn’t you tell anyone? We don’t need you passing out on stage—”

“I said I was _fine,”_ Yuta snapped, “I’m sick of everyone being on my goddamned case, okay? Have you guys ever thought about that? I don’t need everyone breathing down my neck constantly. I’m just—I’m just trying to sort some shit out. That’s it.”

“Have you ever thought that we just, oh, I don’t know, want to _help_ you?”

Yuta rolled his eyes, “And have you ever thought that this isn’t something you guys _can_ help?”

Several emotions seemed to pass through Doyoung’s face. First, he was shocked, which quickly bled into frustration, before it melted away into his standard look of _‘I love you but you’re insufferable’_ that Yuta was all too familiar with.

Yuta sighed, he knew he couldn’t win in an argument against Doyoung, not when he was set on something, “Look, my piercing has just been bothering me recently. That’s really it. All the stretching and sweating’s been making it really irritated.”

Doyoung’s eyebrows lifted. Yuta hated that face. That was his _‘I’m not gonna say I told you so, but I did tell you so,’_ face, which sucked even more because Doyoung _had_ been the only one that really objected Yuta getting the piercing; citing that the constant movement during their promotions would bring more pain than anything.

And, of course, he was right, but he didn’t have to be so fucking smug about it.

“Let me look at it.”

“No.”

“Yes. Let me look at it.”

“We’re going on in a few,” Yuta groaned, “They’re gonna start looking for us, just wait until after.”

Doyoung forced out an exasperated breath, “Yuta, I swear to god. If you don’t show me right now, I’m going to tell Taeyong that you’re dizzy—don’t make that face, you look like you’re gonna drop—and he’s going to mother you non-stop. Is that what you want? To add to Taeyong’s stress and have him constantly up your ass?”

Yuta winced at the phrasing, dredging up thoughts he really didn’t need right now, but also making his stomach twist at the thought of causing more undue stress on the leader.

“Fine. Just—Just don’t bother Taeyong with it, okay? It’ll be fine once we’re not promoting and it’s not constantly shifting and being fucked with,” Yuta relented, lifting the white t-shirt with jittery fingers, “Oh—”

 _“Oh_ is right,” Doyoung breathed, “Yuta, that’s not good. That’s really not good. Are you sure you aren’t having, like, an allergic reaction or something?”

 _Maybe Doyoung was right,_ Yuta distantly thought as he leaned back against the wall. It really, _really_ didn’t look good. It was an angry red, shades of yellow even splotting around it, with several dry patches turning the actual hole almost white. Looking at it made Yuta feel incredibly nauseous, the dizziness he had been trying to hide since that morning slamming into him like a tidal wave.

“Hey,” Doyoung attempted to get his attention back, “Your face just went really pale, really fast.”

“It’s just the makeup—”

“Yuta? Doie?” Taeyong walked towards them, a cautious inquisition painting his words, “Is everything good?”

The answering lie sat heavy on his tongue, but Yuta honestly feared he would throw up the second he opened his mouth. 

Thankfully, Doyoung came to the rescue, answering Taeyong with, “I lost one of my in-ears, Yuta was just helping me find it,” he held the earpiece out before gently pushing past Taeyong as the leader turned to watch him, “Thank you for helping me, Yuta.”

Yuta had barely had half a mind to mumble out a ‘no problem’ as he pushed away from the wall to follow, but not before being stopped by Taeyong’s questioning look, “What?”

“Yuta, are you sick?” Taeyong asked immediately, his grip on Yuta’s bicep tightening in anticipation of the younger boy pulling away.

Running away. Always running away.

For once, Yuta wanted to stand his ground. He wanted to be honest.

“I’m kind of lightheaded,” Yuta admitted before rushing to continue before Taeyong could say anything, “I’ll be okay, Yong. I promise. I just need to get back into the swing of things, but I’ll manage.”

Taeyong looked ready to argue, but the backstage staff had already begun to usher them towards the stage for them to split into their separate spots. 

Yuta would be fine. He always was.

///

Not fine. Yuta was not fine. Yuta was really, really not fine. The prelude had gone okay enough, but the second the lights had dimmed, Yuta felt disoriented and his vision began to waver. He was going through the actions he’d done time and time again, the motions beat into his muscles, but that meant nothing when he could feel the sweat dripping down his skin in rivets under the thick leather, forcing him to tug the jacket off his shoulders in fear of overheating. 

The longer he danced, the more his focus was breaking. All he could think about was how honestly, truly uncomfortable he felt. How much his head hurt, how much his chest hurt, how much his stomach hurt, everything building up and up and up until Yuta was honestly worried about throwing up on stage.

His head was swimming. His legs were shaking. 

He felt a hand wrap around his wrist, leading him away from the lights and the noises and Yuta distantly realized he had made it through the performance. It was over. He couldn’t remember a single detail of it.

Yuta stumbled, catching himself on a broad back. His clammy palm pressing against heated leather before he could fall too much as a sturdy arm wrapped around his waist. Johnny. It was Johnny.

The hand on his wrist moved away. Yuta felt it move up to remove his in-ears, letting them hang around his neck as the sweat there began to cool.

“Yuta.”

He heard himself mumble something back. Johnny’s arm around his waist held tighter.

“Yuta,” the voice tried again, this time the arms around him lowering him into a seat as the second pair cupped his face, forcing Yuta’s blurry vision up to focus on Taeyong. “Yuta?”

“Sorry,” Yuta panted, trying to ignore how the floor seemed to be swimming when he looked down at Taeyong crouching in front of him, “Just—” he paused, swallowing, “Got a little…little lightheaded. S’fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Johnny cut in, any remnants of his infectious smile long gone from his face. 

Yuta’s throat constricted at Johnny’s narrowed eyes. The sick feeling hadn’t left, it was only getting worse the longer he was sat down with everyone’s eyes on them. He didn’t want to be there anymore. He wanted to go. Now. He wanted to be anywhere but there with Taeyong and Johnny glaring down at him because he was a disappointment.

“I’m gonna throw up.”

Yuta stood suddenly, managing to stumble past the pair and farther backstage, pushing through several perplexed staff members in his attempt to escape. The further back he got from the stage, the less people there were around.

Someone was following him, but Yuta couldn’t bring himself to do anything about that as he staggered into the bathroom, the door slamming against the wall before slowly drawing closed behind him.

In a second, Yuta was bent over and retching into the toilet. He knew it was coming, the anxiety sitting uncomfortably in his throat as he gagged. He felt faint, heat flushing his entire body and stomach pulsing in pain.

“Yuta-hyung,” Mark’s voice quietly echoed throughout the bathroom, the rapper making his way to Yuta before he even had the chance to tell him to stay out. “Are you okay?”

God, Yuta was fucking sick of people asking him that.

No, he wasn’t okay. He could feel the tears building. Couldn’t tell if it was from the pain or the frustration or the embarrassment, or something else entirely. 

He gagged again, but nothing but water and bile came up, burning his throat as he vaulted forward. Mark was behind him in seconds, his hands hesitantly pulling at Yuta’s jacket but quickly sped up as the dancer began trying to tear it off.

Yuta was dizzy. His jacket was thrown to the floor in a heap, but he was still too hot. His hair was damp with sweat, plastered to his forehead and neck and rapidly cooling on his skin, making him shudder in discomfort.

“Ahh, hyung,” Mark’s voice wavered as he spoke, low and a little bit afraid, “You—You should’ve said you were sick.”

Had he been able to look, he was sure Mark would be staring at him with wide eyes, but Yuta couldn’t do anything more than attempt to draw in a wheezy breath. He felt faint, and realistically, he knew what was happening. He coughed, his body desperately trying to take in air, but only managing to give him less time to draw in a breath before choking on it.

“G-Get—Yong.”

“Are you sure?” Mark rushed out, “I don’t want to lea—”

_“Please.”_

Yuta felt fucking pathetic. He hated Mark seeing him like this—With his forehead propped up on his arms, panting, body crumpled in front of a toilet.

Mark stood, trying to lift Yuta with an arm around his waist but it wasn’t going to happen. Yuta managed to get one leg underneath himself before he collapsed back on the ground, knees hitting the floor with an audible _smack_ as he leaned back against the cool wall.

He was fading fast, and could only manage a breath when Mark finally ran out the door. Yuta squeezed his eyes shut, tears mixing with the sweat already streaming down his face. 

Yuta wanted it all to end.

It wasn’t until Taeyong’s blurry face filled his vision that he felt like he could breathe again.


	2. due

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is bad but I don’t care. deal.

There was something cold pressed to his cheek—Taeyong’s hand, it was Taeyong’s hand—Yuta recognized that a little too fast for his brain to really process the implications of. Taeyong’s hands were always cold, fingers chilled to the touch, a perfect match to Johnny’s heated ones. Always a perfect match.

Yuta opened his eyes, head lulling to the side to press even further into Taeyong’s palm as he looked at the elder through his blurred vision. “Hyung?”

“Yeah? Hyung is here, Yu.”

Another set of hands found their place on his body just as Yuta’s eyes fell closed, reveling in the security that instantly came from Johnny’s arms wrapped around his shoulders.

He hated himself. He really, really hated himself. Hated how quick his body relaxed in Johnny’s hold, hated how he immediately turned towards the warmth, hated how he was so in tuned to both sets of breathing in the room, his own not even a relevant factor anymore.

Yuta could feel the tears welling up once more, spilling at the corners of his eyes before he even had the chance to breathe again. Taeyong’s hands, familiar and cool and _safe,_ gently brushed them away before they could fall past the contour of his cheekbones. He jerked under the touch before settling once more, shivering at the shock that ran through his veins.

He didn’t know if it felt good or bad.

_“Youngho.”_

Yuta could feel his lips forming the words, but he couldn’t actually tell if any sound more than a breath had come out. He swallowed the lump forming in his throat, trying to fight the nausea creeping back up alongside it as his head lulled to the other side, forehead resting in the crook of Johnny’s neck.

Yuta finally felt like he was able to breathe.

His eyes slipped shut again, but this time, this time he didn’t try to fight it.

|||

It was unfair.

How easy Yuta could see himself with both Johnny and Taeyong. It wasn’t right, but Yuta found his thoughts drifting there all too often.

It was never a conscious decision, Yuta would never _choose_ to be in such a hopeless situation, but he felt like he’s spent so many years of his life in this position that it just felt familiar. Safe. 

He had grown up listening to his parents’ shouts through too-thin walls, counting the breaths until his father slammed the door and holding them in until the sound of his mother’s crying drifted through the crack of his door. That was what Yuta grew up thinking _love_ was.

His views changed years later, after meeting Johnny and Taeyong, after _finally_ getting the chance to experience what real love was. Taeyong and Johnny’s love was more pure than Yuta could ever truly see, because his own concept of love was muddled and riddled with tears of frustration and hurt.

For those years before that, Yuta had never understood loving someone to the point that you would sacrifice anything for their sake, would _do_ anything to keep them happy—He had never understood, until he met Lee Taeyong.

Until he watched Lee Taeyong throw himself between their little group of misfits and the world, shielding them from the stones the public tried to rain down on them.

Yuta didn’t think he deserved that protection, when he was the type to throw stones from his own glass house. Taeyong overlooked them—Yuta’s faults—and held Yuta’s face between his palms with the promise of always being there to protect him. Yuta wanted to argue that he didn’t need Taeyong there to protect him, but, selfishly, he couldn’t deny how good it felt to be the center of Taeyong’s orbit. 

Johnny was different. But Yuta’s heart still ached the same way for him.

Johnny was far more passive than his camera-persona may seem. He was almost always the first to give, in any argument Yuta had ever gotten in with him, even though he knew for certain that Johnny could overpower him in seconds.

He was good at that, patting away the fires of Yuta’s anger with soothing words and complacent smiles. Unfolding Yuta’s clenched fists with familiar jokes that Yuta still breathlessly chuckles at, even after hearing it for the fourth time.

Where Taeyong was all push—he was a leader, after all—Johnny was the pull, and Yuta was suspended between them. He would go wherever those two were, even without his own mindfulness directing him there. Yuta was ensnared, trapped in the waves their contrast created. 

He wasn’t afraid of drowning, but he was sick of never knowing if he would end up sinking in the end, or if he’d be left at the mercy of the waves. 

|||

Loving them came easy. Loving them felt right. In a way that Yuta never tried to push against.

It had fallen upon him like an addiction. Yuta had accepted it long ago that his feelings would never be the right ones to have, but that seemed like the recurring theme in his life. 

He didn’t mind it too much, most days. He could forget that Johnny and Taeyong only had eyes for each other when they were all together. They were both really good at that—making sure to keep everything professional (well, for an idol doing fanservice) and under wraps. There never seemed to be any forcedness in the easy-going nature of their skinship with any of the others.

Yuta could ignore the butterflies in his stomach when Johnny’s arm sat heavy across his shoulders, or when Taeyong’s fingers combed through his hair. He could ignore them, stop the hope from blossoming in his chest because Taeyong fretted over all of the members like that, Johnny gave them all fond-exasperated looks. Yuta wasn’t special.

But sometimes—

Sometimes it felt like he was.

|||

“How are you feeling?”

Yuta shook his head, trying to push himself further into Mark’s side, body lined up with the rapper’s as he grumbled at Jungwoo’s hands fluttering around his head.

He wanted to shove everyone as far away from him as possible—except Mark. Mark was the one good thing in the group, Yuta swore—but moving his arms from where they were protectively wrapped his middle seemed like more than his body was capable at the moment. 

“I don’t—” Yuta swallowed, inhaling, “I don’t know what happened,” he heard himself say, “I was fine—I—I don’t—”

“Shhh, Yu,” Taeyong appeared back in his vision, kneeling in front of Mark, across from Yuta, “It’s okay. We got through the song, no one saw anything, but you still almost fainted coming off stage.”

He hated how Taeyong’s voice shook like that, hated how _much_ Taeyong felt even though it wasn’t the first time this has happened, and he knew it was far from the last. It’s happened to him before, it’s happened to both Taeyong and Mark, it’s even happened to Jaehyun. It shouldn’t make Taeyong react so strongly. Yuta didn't want to convince himself of dillusions that could never be true.

“I just—I just wanna go home, hyung, _please.”_

“Can you—” Taeyong started, before clicking his jaw shut and glancing to the left of them; past Yuta’s radius of sight, with his vision still as blurry as it was, “Do you want Johnny to carry you?”

The temptation to say ‘yes’ was there, of course, it was always there, but Yuta knew there was no way something like that could be explained away if anyone were to see them, so he shook his head, trying to ignore the way the room swam around him.

“I’m fine.”

28 minutes. That was how long it took for Yuta to be able to stand without anything more than Mark’s arm bracing his waist.

He narrowly managed to avoid riding with Taeyong, the leader needing to stay back to finish collecting their stuff and Donghyuck, who had disappeared somewhere with Jaehyun around the time of Yuta’s near-fainting spell. 

He wasn’t quite as lucky with Johnny. 

Johnny stayed far enough away from Yuta that he wasn’t actively thinking about him—for once—as they made their way to the van, Yuta still leaning heavily against Mark for support as Doyoung followed closely behind, likely preparing himself for the worst. 

Yuta was thankful that Mark wasn’t complaining about his weight, or trying to pass him off to Johnny, but he had a feeling Mark knew more than his seemingly-unobservant nature would lead one to believe. Truly, he wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in 127 knew. Yuta wasn’t exactly subtle, but maybe enough of it was covered up by his constant and incessant flirting with Mark that Yuta was able to escape the realizations of the others. 

Johnny didn’t make a single noise until they reached the van, shuffling inside in a silence so uncharacteristic of their group, when their manager tried once more to convince Yuta to go to the hospital. 

“What’s a doctor going to do for an infected piercing, other than tell him to take it out? Taeyong still has the ointment from when his ear got infected, I say we see if it calms down in a day, or something.”

The manager hummed, “Ultimately, it’s up to you, Yuta. Though I, personally, would prefer you see someone, we can wait a day if you’d rather.”

Johnny’s eyes met Yuta’s in the mirror. 

“I just want to go home.”

“Alright, but if you feel any worse, call me _immediately._ Understood?”

Yuta let Doyoung answer for him, his eyes falling shut as he deflated into the seat. He was tired. Tired of lying—to himself, to the people around him, to the ones he loved more than he loved himself—Yuta was just tired. 

||| 

“Yuta-hyung?” Jungwoo quietly spoke into the van, voice tentative and low as Yuta forced his eyes to open, forced his head to turn just enough to the left that he could see the younger boy. He was trying to make himself appear smaller than his frame truly sat, a near-perfect opposite to his usually impeccable posture, arms and legs folded in on himself like he wanted nothing more than to disappear into the traffic surrounding them. 

Yuta hummed his acknowledgment when Jungwoo failed to continue. He hoped the creases between his eyebrows wouldn’t give away too much, but his head was pounding and his stomach still throbbing, the road moving nauseatingly fast beside him. 

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?” He croaked, clearing his throat as he tried sitting up. Doyoung immediately shot forward to halt the movement, anxiously hovering in between the back row of seats and Yuta’s own. 

“For—I don’t know,” Jungwoo frowned, pursing his lips as his eyebrows drew together, “For being such a nuisance recently, when you weren’t feeling well. I’m sorry.”

Yuta chuckled, head falling back against the seat with a sigh, “You’re not a nuisance, kid. Don’t worry about it, ‘kay? S’gonna take more than a li’nagging to make you a nuisance. I mean, just look at Doyoung.”

 _“Hey._ Watch it—”

“See?”

Yuta let the steady rumble of the engine pull him back under, voices fading into nothing as he gave in to the exhaustion that never seemed to not be present.

The last thing he remembered was blinking back into consciousness and Johnny’s warm breath on his neck as he lifted Yuta from the van, before everything became dark again.

|||

Yuta wasn’t ignoring them.

“Hyung, you need to talk to them.”

“No, I don’t.”

_“Hyung.”_

_“Jungwoo,”_ Yuta copied his exasperated tone, “I don’t need to talk to them because I’m not ignoring them.”

Jungwoo looked anything but impressed, lifting a hand to list off on each of his fingers, “You won’t answer their text messages, you won’t even read the group chat. You have a clear from practices the next week—”

“How does that mean—”

“You haven’t even left the dorm in the past three days,” Jungwoo continued on, ignoring Yuta’s futile attempts to argue against him, “Taeyong had to ask me how you were doing, Yuta.”

Something in Yuta burned white-hot with embarrassment, mortified at the prospect of the others talking about him, about his faults, “Why didn’t he just ask me himself?”

Jungwoo’s eyes widened with disbelief, “He _has,_ you ass! You don’t answer him, or Johnny. Taeyong thinks you hate him. That’s the only reason he hasn’t come up here himself, because he thinks you hate him.”

Yuta’s mouth ran dry.

“I—I don’t—I don’t hate him,” Yuta stuttered out, words failing him at the sheer absurdity of it. He couldn’t hate Taeyong. Yuta hated himself, not Taeyong.

“I’m not the one you need to tell that to,” Jungwoo sighed, standing up from Yuta’s bed with one fluid motion, “Just talk to them, hyung, they’ll understand.”

_Just talk to them._

He couldn’t. He couldn’t, and that was the problem. Yuta didn’t know if he’d ever be able to look Taeyong, or Johnny, in the eyes after what he said. What he let slip. Too comfortable in Johnny’s arms, and too riddled with exhaustion to hold himself back from spilling everything he held close.

Yuta didn’t hear Jungwoo leave the room, he didn’t hear his whispered conversation with Taeil just beyond his door, not when his words to Johnny were replaying in his head, memory muddled with the fog of sleep and the haze of pain but still so _there._

_“Yuta, you need to take care of yourself,” Johnny told him, brushing the lilac bangs from Yuta’s sweaty forehead as he tucked the blankets tighter around his body, “You should have told us. What you did was dangerous—”_

_“Johnny—”_

_“No, Yuta,” Johnny cut him off, “I need you to listen to me. For once in your life, just fucking_ listen _to me. Please.”_

_Usually, it would take more than that to force Yuta into complacency, but something in the way Johnny’s voice wavered as he laid his hand over Yuta’s cheek caused all dissension to be cast from his body._

_“I’m okay, Youngho,” Yuta turned his head into Johnny’s warm palm, “I’m okay. It wasn’t serious—”_

_“This time. It wasn’t serious this time, but what about next time? What about the next time when you do actually pass out on stage, and I have to watch your body drop to the fucking floor again.”_

_Yuta was tired. Yuta was so, so fucking tired, and he couldn’t hold onto his wall of indifference any longer. He watched as the last grips he had on his composure slipped through his fingers._

_”What if it was Taeyong?”_

_”That’s different!” Yuta snapped._

_Johnny pulled his hand back like he had been burned the second Yuta felt the tears fall. He missed the warmth already, and he chased it like Johnny was physically pulling him forward, curling his body around the hand he desperately clutched in his own._

_Yuta was afraid that if he let go, Johnny would pull away forever. Yuta knew he wasn’t strong enough to follow._

_“It’s s-so—stupid,” Yuta choked, “B-But it_ hurts. _It hurts—so much, Y-Youngho.”_

_Johnny’s hand trembled in Yuta’s hold as he pressed his lips to the American’s skin, “It’s not stupid if it’s hurting you, Yuta,” Johnny whispered, “You’re not hurting alone.”_

_“Y-You don’t get it. How could—How could I ever expect you to g-get it?”_

_Johnny had Taeyong. Johnny would only know the pain of love, not the pain of self-hatred and emptiness and fucking hopeless desperation to chase a love that was never yours to hold. Johnny would never know that feeling. Taeyong would never know that feeling._

_‘I don’t want to love you,’ Yuta thought, ‘But I don’t know what I’d have to live for without it.’_

_Yuta wished he could be happy for them, but he was selfishly too focused on his own pain to see that the_ hurt _spread to all of the others around him, like ripples in a pond, with every stone Yuta threw._

_“I-I’m sorry,” Johnny stuttered._

_“Please, just—leave.”_

_He wanted to hurt alone._

Even though he was the one avoiding them, Yuta couldn’t help but wish they were trying harder, pushing back more to break through the hastily assembled walls Yuta was surrounding himself with, but he knew why they weren’t.

Because Yuta wasn’t worth the trouble.

No, that wasn’t why. Taeyong was too good a person to believe that, even for a second. No, Taeyong didn’t want to push in fear of Yuta snapping again, knowing his willingness to break before he bent when it came to asking for help. It was just another way Taeyong was a better person than he was.

|||

Yuta spoke to a company dermatologist, who recommended he didn’t remove the jewelry—as that could cause the skin to heal over the infection—but gave him suggestions on how to better care for it with the line of work Yuta was in. 

It still hurt, but at least Yuta could stand up without a flash of heat knocking his awareness to the floor and shattering his concentration. He hated the nauseous feeling that seemed to be settled in his stomach at all hours of the day, any more, and was thankful when it slowly began abiding.

Life went on—despite the suffocating pressure Yuta constantly seemed to be feeling, weighing down on his chest like an anchor, stopping him from clawing his way to the surface and leaving him helpless to the current around him, but he had a feeling that had little due to the infection or the resulting fever. 

Taeyong was still cautious around him, but Yuta didn’t really give him too many opportunities to be. He left practice the second it was over, waving away any offers of joining the others for dinner or the journey home in favor of finding another practice room, far enough away that no one could hear the heavy beats of the bass bouncing off the walls and reverberating around the room. 

Yuta danced until his muscles ached too much to continue. 

It gave him something real to focus on, the pain, something to dig his fingers into and use to pull himself to the surface. 

He was existing. That had to be enough. 

It was all he had.

|||

 _‘You’re so responsive,’_ Taeyong would tell him in awe, fingers gently gliding over Yuta’s prostate, _‘Hyung wants to hear all the pretty noises you make.’_

Johnny wouldn’t be much farther away, Yuta would want him as close as possible, and then even closer. Everything felt less overwhelming with Johnny’s sure presence nearby, Yuta basked in the feeling of safety that surrounded the dark-haired man like a fog.

_‘So beautiful.’_

Yuta couldn’t help but gasp quietly at the whispered praise, the possessiveness in Johnny’s tone, as his eyes fluttered shut.

Someone’s nails scraped down his chest, Yuta made another quiet noise of pleasure at the chills that wracked his sweaty body. His prostate was hit again, the angle just barely enough for him to manage, and Yuta squeezed his eyes tightly as he reminded himself that Taeyong’s fingers weren’t the ones stroking inside him, but his skin still tingled with every stroke of the hand he had wrapped around himself until he was spilling into his fist, head thrown back against his pillow as he clenched around his fingers.

He vaguely registered the name that fell from his lips, but the tears were already coming too fast for him to worry about any of the others hearing his whine. 

Yuta lost track of how long he cried for. Body trembling as he let go of every fear plaguing him, pushing them out with each sob he muffled into his pillow.

He loved them. He loved them with more than he had to give. 

Yuta cried until he couldn’t anymore. Cried until he was feeling empty and aching for something, someone, to fill the hole in his heart. 

|||

Two days later, Taeyong cornered him before he could slip away.

“Yuta.”

He offered back a non committal hum, trying not to let his shoulders raise as he pretended to pack his bag.

“I was hoping I could talk to you about something,” Taeyong’s voice was warm, pleasant. Fake. Yuta hated every ounce of _falsehood_ dripping from the syllables. It was Taeyong’s media voice. Taeyong was using his media voice. On Yuta. It felt wrong. It felt like the plates of his heart were shifting even further from one another.

Yuta wondered if he’d ever be able to piece himself back together. If he’d ever be whole again.

He wanted to give Taeyong everything, but Yuta had nothing of value he could offer. He heard himself shuffle through excuses on auto-pilot, fumbling for an out as his eyes followed a single bead of sweat on its journey down Taeyong’s throat.

Taeyong’s throat, that he couldn’t stop thinking about covering with physical proofs of his love, his lust, his worth as a partner. Yuta just wished he could have the chance to prove that.

“I can’t. I promised Mark that I’d go shopping with him,” Yuta blurted without thinking, shooting Mark a desperate glance when the rapper looked to him in confusion.

Taeyong’s perfectly crafted facade cracked—just a little, just enough that Yuta could see the dimming in his eyes.

“I see. Sorry.”

Taeyong went to turn around, but Yuta’s hand shot forward to grab him by the wrist, stopping him from walking away. 

Taeyong’s eyes were wide with surprise, locked on Yuta’s face, and Yuta’s own likely mirrored the emotion as he stared down at their hands. 

He didn’t know why he had done that. 

“I’m trying. Please, I just—I just need some time.”

Yuta finally raised his head, expecting the confusion written on Taeyong’s face but not the small smile that tugged at his lips. Yuta didn’t know why Taeyong would be smiling, when Yuta himself felt like he was digging his own grave at that very moment. 

“I see,” Taeyong repeated, “I think I understand.”

He didn’t, but Yuta didn’t know how he could tell Taeyong that without bleeding every ounce of his love for him onto the polished, wood floors. 

“Don’t—Don’t force yourself,” Taeyong finally said. Yuta’s heart nearly broke at the sight of the cracked smile that still sat on Taeyong’s face, warped and wrong and nothing at all like the toothy grin Yuta stayed up most nights thinking about, “I don’t want you to ever feel uncomfortable, or like you have to be around me—”

“No!” Yuta cut him off, “It’s—It’s not that. It’s not—It’s—”

“Yuta, really. It’s okay. I get it.”

“You _don’t,”_ Yuta pushed, “You don’t get it. You’re never going to _get it.”_

By this time, all of the others had filed out of the room, but Yuta hadn’t even noticed until Mark’s quiet call of his name from the door pulled his attention away from the leader.

“Are you coming?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there in a second.”

Mark nodded before slowly pulling the door shut, leaving Yuta and Taeyong alone. Even Johnny had left, and Yuta couldn’t help but notice how empty Taeyong’s side seemed without Johnny’s imposing presence just behind him. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Yuta muttered, dropping his gaze to the floor.

“I want you to say how you actually feel,” Taeyong urged, “Not just what you think we want to hear. I want to know what you’re actually thinking, Yuta. Not just be left guessing what’s going to set you off next.”

His eyes snapped back up to Taeyong’s face, “Set me off?” He incredulously asked, “What’s going to _set me off?_ I’ll just fucking tell you what’s going to set me off. Seeing you with Johnny, happy and in love and—and always fucking _perfect._ That’s going to set me off. Watching the two of you wrap around each other like you need it to live. Having to listen to you two _fucking_ in the hotel room next to mine?” Yuta cried, _“That’s what’s going to set me off!”_

He was panting by the end of it, his face red from shame and anger and everything in between. He hated Taeyong, and he hated the feelings Taeyong filled him with, and he hated how much he was willing to push down just to keep Taeyong from seeing him break. He hated the way Taeyong’s face held no emotions. He hated that he had been the one to cause it.

Yuta didn’t understand how he could love someone so much, when the only thing that seemed to be in his heart was hatred.

“I need to go,” Yuta pushed past Taeyong, not giving himself the chance to break down and spill his bleeding heart all over the floor at their feet. Taeyong didn’t need Yuta’s bullshit to deal with on top of their still-ongoing promotions. It was just added, unnecessary stress. 

He didn’t see Taeyong’s hand reaching out to grab his.

|||

“Thanks for going out with me, hyung,” Mark squeezed their joined hands slightly as they hung between them, “I needed the break, honestly.”

Yuta gave a quiet chuckle, “I’m the one that panicked and said we were doing something because I didn’t want to talk about feelings with Taeyong-hyung, so. Thank you, I guess. I know you were supposed to go out with Hyuck tonight.”

“We’re just gonna hang in the Dream dorms,” Mark awkwardly shuffled next to him, making Yuta look over at the Canadian, “That’s—I actually wanted to…ask you about that, hyung. With what’s going on between you and Taeyong-hyung and Johnny-hyung. You can’t…You can’t keep doing this. It’s not good, and it’s starting to get worse.”

He pensively listened to Mark fumble his way through, feeling the younger boy’s hand grow sweatier with each word he stuttered on. 

“I just don’t want to see you always in pain, Yuta-hyung,” Mark quietly admitted, “Or constantly trying to hide it. We can help, or—well, we can at least _try,_ but we can’t really do much, in the end. You need to talk to them. About it. I think.”

Yuta stayed silent. He didn’t really know what to say. 

“I’ve found that when you’re too tough, you break easier.”

Yuta must have been breaking for years. Maybe it was only a matter of time before he lost some the pieces. Maybe he just needed to come to terms with the fact that he might never be whole again.

Not if Taeyong and Johnny each kept hold of half. Yuta would have nothing left.

“C’mon, hyung. We’re here.”

What he didn’t expect to come home to was this. Yuta opened the door to their dorm, already prepared to shove Jungwoo’s face out of his space and shut down all of the younger boy’s questions, but what he found was an empty room and no Jungwoo, or Jaehyun, or Taeil. No sounds.

Which didn’t seem right, considering Jungwoo had been the one that texted him, asking him to come home. So Yuta did, but there seemed to be a lack of Jungwoo requiring him.

Yuta wasn’t too concerned, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that settled in his chest as he shrugged his jacket off. He ended up throwing it over their couch, just to spite Jungwoo, before making his way into his room.

And what he _really_ hadn’t expected was Taeyong and Johnny sitting on Yuta’s bed, whispering to themselves and holding hands and looking every bit like the couple Yuta hated being reminded they were.

Yet he couldn’t help but think about how right the pair looked, in Yuta’s space, surrounded by his mused covers and sitting on the bed that Yuta had jerked off in a mere 13 hours ago. Their names on his lips, tasting both sweet and acrid and _burning_ him from the inside.

“Oh,” Yuta said as his bag dropped at his feet, genuinely at a loss of anything else he could say in this situation.

Both Taeyong and Johnny’s heads snapped up almost comically quick, and Yuta would be a liar if he said he didn’t find it endearing. 

He’d also be lying if he tried to tell himself that he wasn’t nearly shitting himself at the fact that both of them were _here,_ and likely going to tell him some sort of anti-confession of their feelings. Some, _‘We already have each other, we’re sorry,’_ bullshit. Something he didn’t need to hear to already know.

“Yukkuri,” Taeyong said, and the name hit Yuta like a wall of ice, cold and hard and chilling him to the bone, “Wait, please? Just—Just listen. Don’t leave, Yu.”

Quite literally frozen in place, Yuta could only comply. His feet had firmly rooted themselves to the floor the second Taeyong had uttered that name.

_‘Slowly, take it slow.’_

So Yuta did as he was told, kept his mouth closed as Taeyong stood from the bed and walked towards him with slow, yet cautious steps. Yuta held his breath until they were standing face to face, mere inches separating them. 

“Yuta—”

“I already know,” Yuta blurted out, taking several fumbling steps away until his back hit the wall, “I already know. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t—shit—I didn’t, like, intend for anything to happen. I wasn’t thinking straight. My head’s been all messed up for a while now, but I swear, just—just give me some time. I’ll sort it out, I promise. Don’t—Please don’t let this cause problems between us—between you two. Please.”

Yuta’s voice was wavering to the point that his words were barely audible, Johnny had leaned forward to catch them but Taeyong heard them perfectly fine, his emotions reflecting across his face. 

“Yukkuri, listen to us, please.”

What else could he do but listen?

“Johnny and I have been talking, recently,” Taeyong started, and Yuta could feel his heart sink to his stomach at the implications, but the leader didn’t give him too much time to panic before continuing on, “About you. About us. _All_ of us.”

“I’m sorry,” Yuta repeated himself, wishing he could take another step back to catch his breath, but the wall was cold and solid against his back, “I’ll stop—”

“Yuta, we don’t want you to stop,” Johnny quietly chuckled as he stood from Yuta’s bed, all long legs and broad shoulders, no matter how soft he looked in his worn _Chicago_ hoodie. Yuta thought he was beautiful. “That’s the whole point. Now, will you please come here?”

Yuta moved forward, beckoned by the mere wave of Johnny’s wrist and nothing more, as Johnny took Yuta’s hand in his own to pull him forward. Until they were standing nearly pressed chest-to-chest. Yuta’s breath hitched, and he knew Johnny heard it, likely even could feel it, at the feeling of his rougher thumb dragging across the back of Yuta’s hand.

“Taeyong and I have talked about this.”

Time felt like it was moving in slow motion.

“We want you, Yuta.”

The only thing he could manage was a stuttered, breathy, “Y-You do?”

“Yeah,” Johnny chuckled, and the sound filled Yuta with so much warmth that he could feel it heating his body and burning through him like a wildfire. Yuta had never felt so aware of the few inches that separated their height before, but now, like this, it was all he could focus on. How Johnny had to lean forward to press their foreheads together, hands threading into Yuta’s too-long hair, palms warm on his neck. “We do, Yu.”

Taeyong was behind him in what felt like a millisecond of time—but Yuta didn’t know how much he could trust himself with how he felt like he was outside of his own body, watching Taeyong and Johnny, rather than suspended between them—boney chest against Yuta’s back and arms around his waist.

He was worried about falling. He felt dizzy. Taeyong’s breath on his neck made him dizzy. Yuta swore the room was spinning, and it was only a matter of time before the vertigo caught up with him—

Johnny was kissing him.

Yuta’s first reaction was to kiss back, eyes falling shut as Johnny’s tongue ran along the seam of Yuta’s lips, prompting him to open them just slightly, and— _Oh,_ fuck. He wanted Johnny to do whatever he just did to Yuta’s tongue again.

Yuta never wanted it to stop.

“He’s so eager,” Taeyong mumbled behind him, his hands creeping under the hem of his shirt as he hooked his chin over the youngest’s shoulder to smile at Johnny when he finally pulled back. Yuta whined at both the lack of Johnny’s lips and the shock of Taeyong’s chilled fingers on his heated skin. “Listen to him, baby.”

“Trust me, I am.”

Yuta hid his face in Johnny’s neck, hands fisting in the material of his hoodie as he willed his heart to stop beating like it was trying to break through his rib cage. He didn’t think he’s ever felt this overwhelmed in his life, but the contrasting sensations from both of the men caging him in was wreaking havoc on his fragile state of being.

They wanted him. They wanted Yuta—maybe not in the way Yuta wanted them, but he didn’t think he had enough control to stop himself. To push Johnny away and free himself from Taeyong’s arms. To tell them that he wanted, no, _needed_ to be more than just a fun night. An experiment. Something to spice up their already perfect relationship.

He didn’t stop Taeyong’s hands from roaming up, only breathed out the slightest of moans as his fingers brushed over his piercing. “Can I take this off?” Taeyong asked, his words still giving Yuta a rush of arousal, no matter how many times he’s heard the rapper’s lower tone.

Yuta nodded his head against Johnny’s shoulder, not trusting his voice to hold steady enough for him to answer.

The shirt was pulled over his head. A second passed before Johnny’s lips were back on his.

Yuta’s thought about this moment more than he cared to admit. To either of the men he was with, or to himself. He’s thought about this moment every time he found himself muffling his cries into his pillow, spilling into his hand as he prayed Taeil remained asleep and unaware.

Taeyong’s hands found their place at Yuta’s waist— _’their place’_ —before one snaked around to pop the button of his jeans. Yuta’s brain nearly whited out as his fingers dipped under the elastic of his underwear, every phantom memory of Taeyong’s fingers snapping to the forefront of his mind as he moaned into Johnny’s mouth.

“Johnny,” Taeyong called, waiting for the taller man to pull out of the kiss with spit-slick lips and a lust-glazed look in his eyes, “Look at him,” he said, as if Yuta wasn’t even there, “Watch his face. Watch us.”

“Wha—”

Fingers circled his cock as his other hand roamed over Yuta’s chest, his collarbones, his neck, pushing his head back against Taeyong’s shoulder as he lightly scratched down the column of his throat. It made Yuta think about how few hands have touched him like this. How few people have seen him like this. How none of them had meant anything to him, until now. Until Johnny’s dark, narrow eyes and Taeyong’s teasing fingers. 

Yuta was an idol. He was used to unfamiliar hands on his skin. He was used to the never-ending scrutiny from those around him, but this was nothing like that. This was his heart racing even faster as Taeyong chuckled once more when Yuta bucked forward into the tight circle of his fingers. This was his hands seeking stability and reaching out to grip Johnny’s forearms, strong and sturdy and dependable.

It didn’t matter that this would never happen again. Yuta was grateful for even the chance to taste Johnny on his tongue. To feel Taeyong’s breath against the shell of ear.

Yuta wouldn’t worry about tomorrow. Not until he inevitably woke up alone tomorrow, forcing him to rethink every word he said, every move he made, every kiss he left. Yuta would worry about how he was likely irreparably damaging his relationship with these two tomorrow, when he had to deal with cleaning his sheets and ridding himself of all evidence that this ever happened.

Tomorrow.

“Let’s move to the bed,” Taeyong said it like a suggestion, but there was no room for argument as he removed his hand from Yuta’s jeans, tantalizingly slow. Yuta, who was still lost to his feelings, but not to the sensations that were assaulting his body from every direction, let the rapper nudge him towards his mattress with nothing more than a nod.

Yuta should say ‘no.’ He knew he should tell Taeyong that he didn’t want this, that he wanted to be left out of whatever one-night fantasy the two of them had, but Yuta couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. If he stopped them now, he was worried that he’d never get a chance like this again. If he didn’t give them this, they wouldn’t need anything from him that they couldn’t find in one another.

Johnny sat down on the bed first, Yuta let himself be pulled into his lap without a second coherent thought.

“Wait, Yu,” Johnny started, but rather than finishing his thought, he chose instead to send Taeyong a look over Yuta’s shoulder as he shifted them backward. He didn’t get the chance to question it before Taeyong’s fingers were dragging Yuta’s jeans over the curve of his ass.

He helped Taeyong by shimmying out of them the best he could while still in Johnny’s lap—fucking _Christ,_ he was in Johnny’s lap—before letting out a slow exhale at the cool air on his fever-heated skin. He knew it wouldn’t be cool for too much longer, considering he could already feel the temperature rising from the three of them crowded in it.

He was a performer first, and Yuta was going to make damn sure he left a lasting impression. He was going to be remembered, he’d make sure of it.

Yuta pushed Johnny onto his back, settling his ass over Johnny’s cock as he rocked down. He could feel Taeyong’s eyes on him, and he could _see_ Johnny’s locked on Yuta’s own cock, the head shiny with precome and the glint of silver peaking from underside the head.

“Yuta.” Johnny breathed, causing Yuta to smirk slightly at the barely-heard hitch in his voice, “Is that—?”

“What?” Taeyong moved around them on the bed, now also stripped down to his boxers, to sit next to Johnny on the bed.

Yuta shifted in Johnny’s lap, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of the erection—and the denim of Johnny’s jeans—against his skin. Red was already beginning to spread along his skin, Yuta could feel the heat traveling from his face, down his neck, to across his collarbones, as the sudden _absurdity_ of the situation hit him.

“Yuta. Is that a piercing?”

But, he _was_ a performer, and the curtain was already up, so the show must go on.

He channeled every ounce of confidence he didn’t have as he reminded himself that he was doing this for them, he was doing this to make them feel good, and coyly smiled down at Johnny.

“This little thing?” He asks, grin growing sharper as Taeyong’s eyes narrowed, “Yeah, do you like it?”

Taeyong practically growled as he surged forward to catch Yuta’s bottom lip between his teeth, making his brain white-out for the few seconds it took him to realize what was happening and kiss back. He was twisted in Johnny’s lap, legs still straddling the older man’s while he and Taeyong fought to take control of the kiss.

He didn’t know how to describe it.

Taeyong’s touches were firm. Confident. 

Johnny’s were more fluid. More teasing. Like he didn’t want Yuta to know what he was planning.

Johnny was slow, passionate, with his kisses. Like he knew all of your weaknesses and wanted to remind you that he could take you apart in seconds. Taeyong was force. Taeyong was rhythm. Taeyong was taking the pieces and rearranging them, so you couldn’t even tell what it had begun as.

Yuta didn’t think he’d mind being broken down and reassembled, if it was by them.

“What do you want, Yuta?”

“Whatever you’ll give me,” he breathed against Taeyong’s lips.

“No, this is about you, baby,” Johnny said before leaning forward to kiss down Yuta’s neck, nipping at a sharp collarbone before straightening back up and repeating, “What do you want?”

“I want—” Yuta couldn’t believe the words that were about to come out of his mouth, “I want—”

_Anything. Everything._

Yuta was selfish.

“Yuta, undo Johnny’s belt.”

He turned to Taeyong in surprise, mouth parting as he watched Taeyong’s eyebrows knit together.

“Well? What are you waiting for?”

Yuta didn’t waste another second before looking back to Johnny, who was leaning back on his hands with a lazy smirk, “Yeah, baby, what are you waiting for?”

It was unfair that Johnny _was_ the only fully clothed one, and Yuta _has_ been writhing naked in his lap for several minutes now, so he pulled Johnny’s hoodie over his head with slightly more force than necessary before tossing it on the floor somewhere behind him.

He held his breath as he popped the button on Johnny’s jeans, reaching a hand inside just like Taeyong had done to him earlier, shivering at the warm weight his fingers wrapped around.

 _“Fuck,”_ Yuta breathed, a chuckle startling him enough to make him jump slightly as Taeyong grinned.

“He’s big, isn’t he?”

And, really, Johnny having a sizable dick shouldn’t come as a surprise. Yuta’s seen flashes here and there in all the years they’ve been a group, but had always pointedly looked away when it came to either him or Taeyong. He never wanted to give any sense of realism to his fantasies.

Yuta chose not to answer, instead cautiously working to stroke Johnny to full hardness, even with the restriction of his jeans still in the way, “Okay?”

Rather than Johnny, Taeyong was the one to answer, “Tighter,” he said, and Yuta’s hold immediately compacted as Johnny winced out a moan.

Taeyong was lying down next to them on his side, weight resting on one arm as he lazily stroked his own cock while watching them. It caused shivers to run down Yuta’s spine—the idea of Taeyong watching him. Watching _them._ Together. 

It shouldn’t surprise him that Taeyong was the one taking control, but it did. He had always thought of having Taeyong pinned under him, with teary eyes and small, breathless words, but now he couldn’t imagine anything other than Taeyong’s teeth knicking his lip. All Yuta could taste was the sharp tang of iron. 

Johnny pulled him out of his thoughts and back to the present by running a hand up Yuta’s chest, his thumb circling one of Yuta’s nipples, “Would you ever think of getting these pierced?” He asked, smiling cockily when Yuta could only nod.

His grip tightened on Johnny’s cock as he felt nails scratch down his side, Yuta leaned his head against Johnny’s shoulder as he tried to breathe through the sensations burning through his body and melting his control like wax.

“Are you okay?” Johnny murmured into Yuta’s hair, “We can slow down?”

Yuta pathetically shook his head, at least, as much as he could with his forehead tucked into the curve of Johnny’s neck. He didn’t want it to stop. Not now that he knew what Johnny felt like in his hand, or how Taeyong tasted on his tongue.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Taeyong gently asked, and Yuta resisted the urge to laugh.

“More than okay,” he finally managed to choke out after a few stabilizing breaths, lifting his head to peer at Taeyong through his sweaty bangs, “The lube is in that drawer.”

“Do you have condoms—”

“I’m clean,” Yuta blurted, “I promise, I haven’t been with anyone since I—Since I was last tested.”

Another grin—sharper, more dangerous—split Taeyong’s face, but Yuta didn’t wait to see him move to get it, rather just felt Taeyong’s smile through the kiss his placed on Yuta’s shoulder as he moved past him to retrieve the lube from Yuta’s bedside stand. 

Yuta focused his attention back on Johnny, who was still painfully hard in Yuta’s hand but patiently waiting as he watched him with Taeyong.

No matter how much he had dreamt of it, Yuta didn’t know how to feel with both Taeyong and Johnny’s attention on him. He had always pictured himself as the outside, the third point that just barely held out of reach, but Johnny’s warm hands on his hips felt like something completely different.

It felt like Yuta was worth something to them, something to treasure, something more than a fun night and an easy lay, and that was dangerous. Yuta couldn’t let himself feel wanted, lest he convince himself that he was, when he knew that wouldn’t hold true. 

Yuta needed to remember that he was there for them, not his own selfish desires. He was there to make them feel good. He needed to make them feel good.

He sat back, scooting off of Johnny’s lap to settle between his legs. It had been a while since, but Yuta was sure he could still give a half-decent blow job, at least, he hoped so. He leaned forward to take Johnny into his mouth, his jaw already protesting at Johnny’s thickness as he swallowed the spit threatening to spill from the corners of his lips.

“Slowly, Yukkuri,” Taeyong gently reprimanded as he pet Yuta’s hair, “We’re not going anywhere.”

Not yet. They weren’t going anywhere _yet._ Yuta still had the chance to prove himself, prove his worth. Prove that he could be good enough for them to keep around. Yuta was willing to be their toy to use, their plaything, if it meant being able to be close with them like this for more than one night.

The air was hot around them, just like Yuta knew it would be, sweat shining on all of their skin as he slowly pulled off of Johnny’s cock to take a breath before sinking back down—once, twice, a third time, before Johnny’s fingers threaded through his hair and guided him to settle into a rhythm.

He could feel Johnny’s thighs trembling on either side of his body, and had the brief thought of asking if he’d be more comfortable taking his jeans off finally, but Johnny pushed his head down far enough that the head of his cock hit Yuta in the back of the throat. 

It surprised him enough to cause him to pull back, coughing as tears welled up in his eyes. He could do better, he knew he could do better. He needed to be better.

“You’re so beautiful, Yuta,” Taeyong cradled Yuta’s face in his palms, looking at him with so much adoration in his eyes, Yuta could feel his heart breaking right down the middle. He couldn’t handle losing that look, now that he’s had it. “Isn’t he, Johnny?”

“Stunning,” the eldest laughed, nudging Yuta’s head back towards his crotch, “But looked even prettier choking on my dick.”

That’s why he was here. To please, Yuta was here to please and be used, he wasn’t here to be loved, to be cared for. Yuta wasn’t here for himself, he was here for them. For their pleasure.

He took Johnny back into his mouth, ignoring the pull of his jaw as he took as much of him into his mouth as he possibly could, barely managing to suppress a gag when Johnny’s hips gave the slightest of bucks upward.

“I’m gonna prep you now,” Taeyong told him, casually, like he wasn’t about to do that one thing Yuta had jerked off thinking about more times than anything else, “Is that okay, Yukkuri?”

Yuta didn’t want to pull off of Johnny’s cock, so he let out an embarrassingly-high whine in the hopes that Taeyong would just understand. It must have worked, because Taeyong began gently shushing him, and Yuta felt gentle hands pet along his back, gliding along his skin before being removed as the click of the lube bottle echoed through the room as Yuta swallowed around Johnny, causing the fingers to pull lightly at his hair.

He did it again, lightly grazing his teeth over Johnny’s head the next time he pulled off, “You can pull my hair.” His voice sounded like it had been scraped over gravel, but Yuta didn’t waste too much time caring as he bent back down to resume.

Yuta nearly choked again as Taeyong’s finger, slick with lube, cautiously began circling his entrance, letting him get used to the foreign feeling of someone else touching him there, like this. His heartbeat sped up, the seconds that once felt like they were ticking by painfully slow now seemed to be moving too fast for him to keep up with. 

Yuta couldn’t breathe as Johnny helped maneuver him to better fit Taeyong, hiking one of Yuta’s legs over his own thigh to spred him further as Yuta was hit with the realization that Johnny could probably fuck him against a wall like it was nothing—Johnny probably _has_ done that to Taeyong.

The jealousy burned brighter, flushing down his chest as Yuta sucked harder, swirling his tongue and trying to take Johnny as deep as possible to show that he was _enough._ He needed to be enough.

Taeyong’s finger finally pressed inside, sinking easily to his knuckles as he made a small noise of surprise. “Oh?”

Johnny hummed below him in question, Yuta felt himself tense around Taeyong’s finger.

“Yukkuri, have you been busy?”

He pulled off of Johnny’s cock with a slick _pop,_ “Y-Yeah,” Yuta stuttered, not willing to admit that he had gotten off last night, cried himself to sleep, and then fucked himself with his fingers _again_ after waking up.

And then it really hit him.

This was everything he’s ever fantasized over. Every night he stayed up, muffling his moans into the pillow. Every shower he’s ever spent with his teeth sinking into his palm to keep himself quiet. Every time he had spaced out with Taeyong, late at night as he watched the older boy write, or even before that, with Johnny in the practice rooms. It was everything Yuta’s fantasized about, but still not at all. It was missing the one thing Yuta truly wanted. _Needed._

He wanted to be needed. Needed to be wanted.

Taeyong pushed another long finger into him, and Yuta blew out a breath before going back to mouthing at Johnny’s cock. It was almost too much for him to handle. Johnny stretching his mouth as Taeyong gently began scissoring his fingers, and then alternating to just barely massaging Yuta from the inside. 

“You two look good together,” Johnny hummed, his heavy gaze weighing Yuta down and only adding to the weight that seemed ever-present against his chest. Him and Taeyong shared a glance, one Yuta just barely managed to catch, but made him feel like an outsider nonetheless.

Even worse than that, Taeyong leaned forward, pressing his chest flush against Yuta’s back to connect his lips with Johnny’s over Yuta’s shoulder. He closed his eyes, not wanting to think about it any longer and just focus on the heaviness of Johnny against his tongue, or the glide of Taeyong’s fingers inside him.

He was caught between feelings of arousal at the slick noises their lips made just above him and the disgusting envy at the knowledge of them not truly needing him there to satisfy themelves, but then Taeyong’s fingers shifted _just right_ and Yuta startled them both with the loud whine he let out.

 _Fuck._ It felt so different when Taeyong hit it. So, so much better, and Yuta wanted him to do it again and again and again, but Taeyong seemed to have other ideas. He was pointedly ignoring that spot, even going as far to press his arm against Yuta’s lower back to stop him from wiggling as he attempted to press back against his fingers.

It only took a few minutes of listening to Taeyong and Johnny make out above him before Yuta grew impatient, not quite able to remind himself not to be selfish in the haze of his need for more, “Yong—” He whined after, trying to get their attention on him, he wanted their attention on him but they didn’t pull away, “ Tyongie-hyung,” Yuta tried again, and finally, _finally,_ Taeyong separated himself from Johnny.

“Yeah, Kkuri?”

“I’m ready,” Yuta babbled, “Please, hyung, please. I’m ready, please, do something. Anything. I need it.”

Taeyong looked unsure, “I should add another finger, first. You’re not used to Johnny—”

“I don’t care,” Yuta cut him off, hating himself but _needing_ more. He didn't care if it hurt, but he couldn’t say that to Taeyong, because Taeyong would never let Yuta hurt himself on purpose. He was too good for that. “I’m sure, please. _Please.”_

“Do you want me?” Taeyong asked, gently, like he was afraid of overwhelming Yuta, “Or Johnny?”

The problem was that Yuta was already overwhelmed, and there was no way that was going to change any time soon, as long as Taeyong was looking at him with that fond expression that didn’t belong to Yuta. It belonged to Johnny. Taeyong belonged to Johnny. 

He couldn’t pick between the two of them. Taeyong couldn’t ask him to pick.

“Both.”

Johnny chuckled, “That sounds like it would require a lot more prep than this, but maybe next time.”

_Next time. Maybe next time. Next time. Next time._

The words replayed over and over in Yuta’s head. Next time. Johnny said there would be a next time. They wanted this again. They wanted Yuta.

“Do you want me to fuck you, Kkuri?”

In any other scenario, Yuta would have burst out laughing at hearing those words come from Taeyong’s mouth, but this wasn’t any other scenario. This was Yuta begging to be fucked by the two people he’s loved longer than felt real. Yuta felt like he’s lived several lifetimes, and each one ended the same way. With him, alone. 

But, maybe, this one would be different.

Taeyong removed his fingers, Yuta had nearly forgotten they were there, but the loss of them left a harrowing emptiness in Yuta’s stomach. 

It was soon replaced with a different kind of ache as Taeyong began pushing in, the stretch vastly different from his fingers and just shy of too painful for Yuta to stand. Fuck, he couldn’t imagine taking Johnny, if Taeyong felt like he was tearing him in two. Yuta almost wished that he had caved and listened when Taeyong insisted on prepping him more, but the slow—the _excruciatingly_ slow—seconds it took for Taeyong to bottom out was worth every pain Yuta has ever felt.

And then he moved.

Johnny cooed at him from above as Yuta buried his face in the eldest’s chest, one hand still petting through his hair, and Yuta would have wilted from mortification at the tears that began to stream down his face had it not been for Taeyong finding his prostate faster than Yuta could have ever been ready for as his body lit up like a fucking firework.

 _“Fuck,”_ Yuta gasped, “Oh my god.”

“You two look so fucking good together,” Johnny repeated with a quiet groan, fisting his cock with the hand that wasn’t still buried in Yuta’s hair, “Fuck, Taeyong. Look at him.”

“Feels even better,” Taeyong added in a soft voice, but there was still the underlying smugness that Yuta couldn’t help but agree with as Taeyong began to roll his hips back before truly beginning to fuck into him. 

Yuta couldn’t describe it. He didn’t want to reduce it to mere words, the feeling of Taeyong pressing inside of him, filling him so completely and leaving Yuta breathless at the thought of Johnny inside him _next time._

Taeyong didn’t really give Yuta the chance to even imagine Johnny’s cock splitting him open as he fell into an incessant rhythm that had Yuta unable to do anything but pant and whine against the sweat-slick skin of Johnny’s neck.

It was perfect. Taeyong was perfect, Johnny was perfect. 

_“Christ,”_ Johnny muttered as Yuta managed to get a hand on him, just over his own larger one, trying to match Johnny’s sporadically frantic rhythm as Taeyong thrusted _harder_ and—holy _fuck,_ Johnny just came on his face. Yuta could feel it streaking across his right cheek, near the bridge of his nose and going as far up as the corner of his eye. “Christ,” Johnny repeated, before seemingly realizing what had just happened, “Oh, my god. Yuta, I’m sorry I didn’t, like, warn you—”

“Wish you would’ve,” Yuta grunted, “Then at least I could’ve opened my mouth.”

Johnny choked, and Yuta, with every bit of confidence he still didn’t possess but was more than apt at faking, swiped two of his fingers through the lines of cum marring his cheek before pressing them past his lips. He made a show of swirling his tongue around the digits, moaning languidly as Taeyong gave a particularly hard thrust.

“Does Youngho-ah taste good?”

Yuta nodded as he pulled his fingers out, but they were quickly replaced with Johnny’s thicker ones after he had covered them like Yuta had. He squeezed his eyes shut, nails digging into Johnny’s shoulders as the fingers pressed against his tongue, fucking into his mouth at the same pace Taeyong was roughly pushing into him.

He could feel Taeyong’s rhythm turn more erratic with each thrust, pushing Yuta against Johnny’s solid, warm body, and—Jesus, he was still wearing those _fucking_ jeans—and Yuta could do nothing but whine and beg and plead for more, more, more, before—

_“I love you.”_

Yuta felt his heart seize up when Taeyong’s whispered sentiment to Johnny drifted past his ear, all air leaving his lungs as he choked on his spit. He swallowed, hard, barely breathing. Why? He didn’t know. Yuta didn’t know. He didn’t know why.

He didn’t know why hearing Taeyong tell Johnny he loved him was enough to bring tears to his eyes. Yuta’s head dipped forward, against Johnny’s shoulder, and he shuddered at the feeling of him tightening his fingers around Yuta’s cock before his thumb barely pressed against the metal bar threading through his skin, and he came with a cry of something too garbled to distinguish.

Taeyong loved Johnny, Yuta knew that. Taeyong loved Johnny, not Yuta, and he _knew_ that, but being reminded of all the things that were just _barely_ out of his reach felt like Taeyong had just slapped him across the face.

It was as if Yuta was given everything he had ever wanted, a perfect opportunity to let the years of pain and emptiness—the walls he had built around himself—crumble. Yuta could tell them. He could tell them everything. Finally say those words he had tried convincing himself weren’t true, the ones he’s swallowed down since the first time he realized he had fallen in love, and every single day after. 

Taeyong pulled out, his cum burning and heavy inside Yuta, and pressed a kiss to his shoulder before leaning further forward to connect his lips with Johnny’s as Yuta went still between them. 

It was a constant thing—falling in love—constant and ever-growing with each second that passed in their presence. It was never just a one-time thing. Not with Johnny, not with Taeyong.

Not when they meant more to each other than Yuta could ever mean to them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was 10k words of run on sentences that I won’t apologize for


	3. tre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOD I CANT BELIEVE THIS SHIT IS DONE WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
> 
> warnings: there's kind of poorly discussed d/s elements in the first half, bit of a subdrop scene, the works
> 
> another warning i got about 5k into this when editing and then gave up so....sorry in advance i guess

The first time made Yuta an idiot. Every time after made Yuta an addict. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to quit, now that he’s had a taste.

\\\\\

Yuta woke up to Johnny’s fingers carding through his hair, the older man looking down at him with soft, morning-hazy eyes and a gentle smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He hummed, offering Johnny a tired smile before he curled back into his blanket, eyes slipping shut once more as he fought against the desire to open them and stare—to drink in the sight of Johnny with sleep-mussed hair and the marks that Yuta had left night before, peeking out from under the fabric of his hoodie.

“S’fine,” Yuta mumbled back, pushing against Johnny’s hand with a huff, “Keep going.”

“Bossy, little one.”

_Little one._

The name made Yuta shiver, a breathy moan slipping past his lips as Johnny gently tugged the strands of hair between his fingers, “Johnny—”

“Ah, ah,” Johnny tutted, punctuating his words with another tug, “What’s my name?”

“Y-Youngho-hyung,” Yuta gasped as his head was forced back slightly, exposing his throat to the man in front of him. He let out another airy noise when Johnny’s fingers trailed down, barely ghosting over Yuta’s overheated skin before wrapping around his throat.

_Johnny’s fingers were around his throat. Yuta’s gotten off approximately three times masturbating to this exact fantasy._

“Little one,” Johnny hummed, adding only enough pressure to make Yuta’s breathing stall from his own shock, rather than Johnny’s hand blocking his airflow, “Give me a color, baby.”

 _Color?_ Yuta’s thoughts were hazy, having no idea what Johnny meant until it hit him. He’s watched enough porn to know.

“Green,” he gasped out, nearly blanking on the word in Korean, “Please. _Please,_ John—” 

In a second, too fast for Yuta to follow, Johnny had managed to manhandle him into his lap, back pressed against his chest and physically forcing Yuta’s thighs over his own and holding them in place—as if Yuta was strong enough to get out of his hold—leaving him feeling exposed and bare, even with the boxers covering him. Yuta didn’t even think to struggle. There was no point.

The hand, now back on his throat, only served as a reminder of that. Still, not quite yet possessive, but firm, restricting, all the same. Johnny’s nails dug into his skin, breath hot against his neck as he leaned forward to scrape his teeth over a tan shoulder.

Yuta gasped, not knowing whether his body wanted to curl in on itself or arch away from Johnny at the sudden, dull pain that sprouted there, only to collapse back against the older man not even a second later when Johnny pulled back to whisper in his ear once again.

 _“Color,_ little one?”

“G-Green.”

“Good boy.” Johnny’s hand tightened around his neck, thumb and fingers pressing down and Yuta felt himself freeze at the sensation, odd and not at all like when he did it to himself. Johnny’s hands were more confident, steadier, staying in place just until Yuta felt like he needed to tap-out.

He took a heaving breath, the haziness of his vision immediately chased by the feeling of warm air in his lungs. His room felt too hot, and Johnny’s warm chest against his back wasn’t doing him any favors. Feverish. Yuta felt feverish. Johnny’s mere presence _made_ him feel feverish, and Yuta didn’t know what to think about that.

Johnny’s fingers were also far too warm, the fabric of Yuta’s thin shirt offered little to no protection from their heat as they traveled lower to tweak Yuta’s nipple with short, teasing flicks.

“Have you ever thought about doing these?”

“W-What?” Yuta stuttered, the words dragging themselves from his lips before he truly had the chance to process Johnny’s question.

The older man simply hummed in response, before repeating, “Your nipples. They’d look so cute pierced,” Johnny murmured, his voice low and more air than sound, but the words went straight to Yuta’s dick. He’d definitely thought about it before, but had decided the belly-button piercing might already be pushing it.

Now, though, hearing Johnny whisper in his ear about how his nipples would look _cute_ pierced, Yuta already found himself mentally searching for when their next promotion-less period would be. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake he did with his belly-button piercing and get himself another infection—no fucking way—so finding a gap in their schedules would have to be the move.

 _Fuck._ Yuta was really thinking about this, just because Johnny told him his nipples looked _cute._

Without warning, Johnny’s fingers slipped under his waistband to wrap around his cock, squeezing around the head—and, by proxy, Yuta’s piercing—as Yuta jerked forward from the shock of it, alone. For a second, just for a second, Yuta almost let the words _‘I love you’_ fall from his lips, but he bit his tongue and swallowed the words, trying to ignore how bitter they felt going down.

The feeling of Johnny’s fingers twisting his piercing was strange and good and hurt in the most perfect way that made Yuta’s cock twitch in Johnny’s hold, several shiny drops of precome sliding over the older man’s fingers as he pulled Yuta free from the fabric of his boxers.

This really was the shit Yuta’s wet dreams were made of, and he still couldn’t believe this was truly happening—but then Johnny was biting at his shoulder blade, the pain shooting straight up Yuta’s spine like lightning, tumbling out of his lips in one long, low moan as he arched away from Johnny’s chest.

Only to be pulled back by a hand around his throat. Yuta whimpered.

 _“Fuck,_ Yu,” Johnny growled next to his ear, teeth barely scraping the shell of it, “I love the sounds you make. I love hearing the noises you make, and,” he breathed out, hot air burning Yuta’s skin, “I can’t wait to make you _scream.”_

Johnny, with one hand on Yuta’s throat and another hand on his fucking cock, exactly where Yuta wanted them to stay for the rest of his _life,_ was whispering in his ear about making him _scream,_ like this wasn’t just some fluke. 

Yuta still couldn’t stop the word _‘experiment’_ from crossing his mind, before the hand on his dick released to rest in the soft dip of his hipbone and he whined at the loss, bucking up in search of _something,_ but only managing to make his cock smack uselessly against his stomach. Johnny wiped his fingers on Yuta’s skin, dirtying him with his own precome, before raising them level with the younger man’s mouth.

“Suck.”

And what could Yuta do but listen?

He took two of Johnny’s fingers in his mouth, the digits sitting hot and heavy against his tongue as Johnny pressed his lips just against the curve of Yuta’s jaw, ripping a shudder from his body at the pressure against—what Yuta now knew was—such a sensitive spot.

Johnny was hard against his back. Johnny was hard against his back, and Yuta knew _exactly_ what he looked like hard. Vividly. He could see Johnny’s cock, red and erect and _big._ So fucking big, and even just thinking about it, Yuta felt himself reflexively clench around nothing.

“Dirty, little one,” Johnny growled, his hips bucking against Yuta’s back and knocking all of the air from his lungs, “Wetter, baby. Get them wetter,” he ordered, and Yuta, head swimming with the sensation of _Johnny’s hand on his throat and fingers in his mouth and teeth against his neck,_ could barely do more than let out a broken moan as he sucked harder. He swirled his tongue around the digits, coating each one individually and merely accepting it when Johnny pushed a third finger in.

They pressed down against Yuta’s tongue, causing him to gag at the sensation, spit covering his lips as Johnny fucked his fingers into his mouth.

“Spread wider.”

Mind hazy, Yuta let his mouth fall open, tongue lolling out before he could really process Johnny’s directions, before his knees were nudged apart by Johnny’s feet hooked around his ankles. Mind hazy, Yuta let his legs fall open, further exposing himself to the open air while Johnny murmured dirty praises into his ear. Nails scraping Yuta’s inner thighs. 

“Yuta, little one,” Johnny cooed, wrapping his spit-slick fingers around his cock once more, “Color?”

“Green, green. Fuck—Johnny, _green._ Please, hyung—”

“Shh, shhh. I’ve got you, baby. Hyung’s got you.”

Yuta, honest to god, had to bite down on his lip to keep himself from begging, but unable to stop the whine he let out when Johnny’s soft laughter behind him hit the shell of his ear. “Johnny,” Yuta breathed out, able to feel his thighs trembling, instinctively trying to close when Johnny’s fingers began to prod just below his balls.

“Keep them open, Yuta,” Johnny scolded, pinching the sensitive skin of Yuta’s thigh before going back to lazily stroking his length, “You need to be good for me, little one. You wouldn’t want me telling Taeyongie that you were bad, right?”

“R-Right,” he whispered back, barely audible but enough for Johnny’s fingers against his throat to tense in anticipation. He wanted Johnny to press harder, to hold until his vision began to black and all the walls he held up around him crumbled.

“Mmm,” Johnny hummed, slow and low in his throat, “Good boy. You listen so well. Who would’ve thought? Our headstrong, little lion just wants to be pinned to the bed and fucked silly. Isn’t that right?” Johnny’s fingers curled tighter, pressing on either side of Yuta’s throat with steady pressure. He didn’t let up immediately, like he did all of the other times, and kept his hold sure and weighted.

Yuta could only nod, moaning out Johnny’s name like a prayer when the older man bucked against his lower back. He was able to feel Johnny’s cock twitching, unable to think about anything other than how bad he wanted it buried inside of him.

That wasn’t something Yuta could just ask, though. He would take what he was given, and wouldn’t ask for more, no matter how many selfish thoughts plagued his brain. 

“Words, Yu.”

 _“Yes,”_ Yuta all but sobbed out when the grip released, grinding down into Johnny’s lap before trying to fuck back up against his fist, wishing— _needing—_ for Johnny to quit teasing him before he broke into pieces in his arms. 

Maybe Yuta was a bit more fragile than he thought. Maybe he was a bit deeper in than he could manage. Maybe this was one of the worst decisions Yuta’s ever made. There was no way he could ever return to living without Johnny’s scalding heat. Or Taeyong’s reassuring coolness. 

“Fuck,” Johnny breathed out, sounding just as broken as Yuta felt, against the back of his neck as he let his forehead drop onto Yuta’s shoulder, _“Fuck.”_

Maybe Yuta wouldn’t have to.

It was easy to lose track of time like this. With Johnny’s fingers keeping their _painfully_ slow rhythm over his cock, thumb occasionally rubbing over the head, spinning his piercing every few passes to keep his thoughts scattered. 

He wanted Johnny to kiss him. Yuta wanted nothing more than to turn his head back and plead until Johnny understood, but he couldn’t. That would be asking for too much, but Yuta couldn’t stop himself. Not now, not now that he knew how Johnny’s lips felt against his. How his teeth felt nipping at Yuta’s bottom lip.

“Are you gonna be a good little lion and come for me?” Johnny asked, and Yuta would have cried out _yes,_ would have nodded, would have done _something,_ had it not been for Johnny’s fingers on his throat and his dick and _fuck._ Yuta was going to lose it. He was going to lose it.

The lightheaded feeling fogging his thoughts, combined with the searing hot touch of Johnny’s hand on the most sensitive places of his body were warring with one another. The fingers around his throat making everything soft and hazy, contrasting with the sharp, electric intensity of the hand tugging on his cock. Once, twice, barely a third time before Yuta was spilling over his fist and collapsing against Johnny, body feeling disconnected and weightless. 

For a second, Yuta was terrified of falling.

Except, now, he knew he didn’t have to be, because Johnny would be there to catch him. 

Yuta would never have to fear falling again, not now, not with Johnny and Taeyong.

“Fuck, Taeyong called me and I missed it,” Johnny mumbled, absentmindedly stroking his fingers against Yuta’s side. He blearily blinked his eyes open, catching sight of the _‘Tyong-kitten — 4 Missed Calls,’_ before Johnny could swipe to redial. 

He listened to the dial tone, belatedly realizing through his post-orgasm brain that whatever Taeyong could need was likely serious. Serious enough to warrant calling Johnny four times in the span of what _couldn’t_ have been more than half an hour (not that Yuta could really be trusted on that).

_“Youngho?”_

Immediately, Johnny’s muscles were tense and Yuta was shifted into awareness, the shakiness of Taeyong’s voice on the other line ripping him from his safe, hazy state of semi-consciousness. 

“Taeyong? What’s wrong, baby?”

The concern in Johnny’s voice was mirrored in Yuta’s own mumbled tone, “Yongie?”

For a second, all Yuta could hear was static, and he had no way of knowing whether it was in his head or coming from the phone, so he just dropped his forehead back against Johnny’s chest with a small sigh. He felt cold. He wanted Johnny’s arms around him. Johnny’s warm, comforting arms keeping him grounded. He felt untethered, like a balloon ready to float away.

_“I—Can you come get me? I—I need you.”_

“Where are you?” Johnny leaned forward, causing Yuta to slide from his place curled against the elder’s chest before Johnny could steady him with a hand on his hip, “Tae, baby, answer me. Are you still at the company?”

Yuta wasn’t able to catch Taeyong’s next words, as Johnny stood up without so much as a warning, leaving Yuta tumbling out of his lap and onto his bed. He pushed his bangs from his eyes, still damp with sweat and likely mussed from sleep (and Johnny’s fingers), watching Johnny get up to pace across his room. He had one hand pressed over his ear, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and shoulders tense under the dim glow of the lamp. It reminded Yuta that he truly had no idea what time it even was, leaving him to fumble around for his phone, finding it tucked under his pillow before clicking it on.

_10:04 AM_

Still early, then—at least, early enough that Yuta would normally still be sleeping. Early enough that _Taeil_ would still be sleeping, but the eldest must have spent the night with Jungwoo, since Yuta couldn’t remember hearing him come in last night.

“Taeyong-ah,” Johnny’s voice cut through his thoughts, the man shuffling back to Yuta’s bed to sit down. Their eyes met, Yuta’s heart clenched at the sheer amount of concern on Johnny’s face. “I’ll be right there, okay? Do you want me to bring—”

 _“No. I only want you,”_ Taeyong’s staticky plea rang in Yuta’s ears, _“I only want you, please.”_

“Alright, baby. I’m on my way now,” Johnny said, eyes never leaving Yuta’s, “I’m gonna hang up now, hold tight for a few. I love you.”

He hung up, brows still furrowed, mouth opening and closing a few times before Yuta couldn’t take it anymore.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” He asked, trying not to wince at the state of his voice when raised higher than a whisper. Maybe Johnny did more of a number on his throat than Yuta had initially thought. “Go get him.”

“Are you sure?” Johnny asked back. Yuta’s chest gave another resonating _pang_ at the concern shining in his eyes, just for Yuta. “I wouldn’t want to leave you, Yu. Not when you’re like this.”

 _‘Like what?’_ Yuta almost asked, but decided against wasting his breath. Taeyong needed Johnny and Johnny needed to _go._ “It’s fine. I’m probably just gonna go back to sleep, anyway. It’s fine.”

Johnny still looked unsure, but deep down, Yuta was certain Johnny knew he was right. Taeyong was Johnny’s boyfriend. Taeyong would always be Johnny’s first priority. Yuta was nothing more than a friend, at least, to them. Yuta would never be anything more than that, and he needed to accept it.

Taeyong needed Johnny, and Yuta loved Taeyong too much to selfishly keep the one thing he needed away. Yuta was worried—of course, he was worried—but Taeyong wanted only Johnny, Yuta wouldn’t keep that from him.

“You still look kind of shaky, Yuta,” Johnny said, and Yuta’s stomach turned slightly at the lack of the name his body had gotten so used to in such a short amount of time, “I really, really don’t want—”

 _“Johnny,”_ Yuta stressed the syllables of his name individually, trying not to let his voice waver like it so desperately wanted to, “Go to Taeyong. It’s fine.”

It would have to be fine, because with barely more than an apology and a _‘I’ll come back later, okay? I promise,’_ Johnny was gone, and Yuta was alone in his too-warm bedroom that smelled like Johnny’s aftershave—menthol, with the barest note of _rose_ hidden under—and sweat. Yuta buried his face into his pillow, hoping to escape the assault of scents in the air that he just couldn’t seem to ignore, now that he’s noticed them, but only succeeding in muffling the sob he worked so hard to keep buried in his throat. 

All at once, Yuta felt like everything was falling apart around him. His fingers shook, hard enough that he had to squeeze his bedsheets between them to keep him from clawing his palms bloody. He could feel Johnny’s fingers around his throat still, holding him down in place like that, keeping Yuta complacent and obedient and quiet, softening another quiet sob that tumbled its way past his lips before he could clamp his jaw shut.

He felt dirty. He needed to shower. Yuta felt dirty and dizzy and _used,_ and the worst fucking part was he didn’t understand _why._ He felt strung out, worn. Stretched too thin across these sheets that smelled like Johnny. Yuta felt sick.

Nothing had even happened to warrant feeling like this. Exhausted despite having just woken up. Dirty. Alone. 

Yuta blinked back the tears threatening to spill over his cheeks, nausea rolling in the pit of his stomach. Too hot. His room was too hot, and the feeling of his sweat rapidly cooling on his skin contrasted so jarringly with the sensation of his blood boiling below it and only served to heighten the disgust Yuta tasted on his tongue.

Shower. He needed to shower. Rid himself of the sweat and the cum and the phantom feelings of Johnny’s lips on his neck. 

With more effort than should have been needed, Yuta managed to drag his aching body up and out of his bed, not even bothering to grab a change of clothes on his way to the bathroom. He was alone. It wouldn’t matter. The dorm sounded too quiet for it to be so early, there was very little chance of him running into any of the others. Which was a good thing, considering Yuta’s nausea only doubled when he flicked the lights on in the bathroom, barely able to take in his own reflection without bile rising up in his throat at the sight.

His neck was a mess. His hair was a mess. _He_ was a mess.

Normally, Yuta loved the idea of being marked. Of being shown off, _claimed_ in the most primal way. Having somebody love you so much that they wanted everyone to know you were theirs. 

And that was where the problem was. Johnny’s marks on his neck weren’t made of love, but rather of lust, and Yuta was almost okay with that. 

Normally, Yuta would stare at the bruises in delight, reveling in the idea of Johnny’s possessiveness becoming a tangible reality. One that Yuta could see, could _feel,_ long after the older man’s hands had left his skin. Now, though, all he could think about was how alone he was.

They wouldn’t last. Johnny wasn’t stupid; he knew better than to leave lasting, visible markings like that. It only took one slip-up, and that was it. One flash of the tender areas of his neck, of the shallow teeth marks indenting his shoulder, and Yuta would be in a world of trouble.

 _Normally,_ Yuta would love that. The thrill of trying not to get caught, doing something he _really_ shouldn’t be doing, but not now. Not when looking at these marks only made him feel sick. He stripped his shirt off, with little regard for the soreness pulling his muscles taut—

Tan, smooth skin. Accented with fingerprints of purple and yellow that traced along his sides, curving around the dips of his hip bones. Yuta, with every bit of willpower he had left in his broken body, managed to drag his narrowed stare back up to his face. Taking sight of the darkening crescents hanging under his eyes. His puffy, bitten lips—still shiny from Johnny rubbing his own spit over them.

His stomach turned. His head fell forward, neck aching from the effort to hold himself up, tousled and tangled hair falling over his face. Dirty. Messy. Alone. 

Bitterly alone, as he was, standing in front of this mirror, looking every bit like he had been used for pleasure and then discarded, tossed aside. Which wasn’t right, and Yuta knew that. _He_ had been the one to tell Johnny to leave. _He_ had been the one to tell Johnny he was fine, but now, standing here, he didn’t feel fine.

Yuta could barely recognize himself. But, he found that he didn’t want to. Not this man, standing before him broken and bitterly alone.

It started before Yuta even had time to take notice, not giving himself a chance to breathe before the dulling, drumming sound in his chest was growing in volume, drowning the buzz of silence with the frantic beating of his own heart.

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump._

Yuta couldn’t think. Couldn’t see anything beyond the fact that he was alone.

His breathing was rapidly becoming more and more labored, rough, dragging itself from his chest like chains over gravel. It was hot. Too hot. His blood felt like it was boiling under his skin. Yuta managed to keep his heart from beating out of his chest for just long enough to scramble for the handles in the shower to turn the water on. 

Without even thinking about the consequences, Yuta was stripped within the seconds it took the wave of nausea to turn into a full tsunami of panic and under the water. The harsh spray scalding his skin and the tears he had been rapidly blinking back wasted no time before they fell. Dirty, he felt dirty.

Dirty enough that he could think of nothing to do but try to scrub the filth off of his skin. Yuta, with vision almost too blurry to see, reached forward to blindly swipe for the soap. It was Mark’s, Yuta was sure of that solely based on the sea-salt scent that came with the bottle opening, but Yuta didn’t mind. Having something that reminded him of Mark, so close, made him feel less alone, but it also worked towards the opposite. It reminded him of why exactly he was seeking such small, seemingly trivial, comforts.

He rubbed the soap into his skin, trying to scratch the sweat—and the panic and the sensation of Johnny’s fingers—away. Scrubbing and scrubbing and scrubbing, until his arms were red and sore and his thighs were no better, rubbed raw in his desperation. 

It wasn’t _working._

The sweat may be gone, but no matter how hard Yuta scrubbed, he’ll never be able to rub the bruises away from his thighs, the ache in his hips, the feeling of Johnny’s fingers around his neck or Taeyong's teeth against his thighs.

The crushing, _suffocating_ weight in his chest. 

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump._

The bruises were jarring to look at. The ache was familiar. Yuta’s mouth tasted like wax, his throat too dry to swallow the resentment down without feeling like he was about to vomit. The sound of blood rushing in his ears, the sharp beating of his heart, steadily carving out his ribs. Alone.

Why did this feel so different from every other time? Every other time he’s found himself crying, alone, in the shower? Why did his chest feel like it was hollowing out, more and more with every second that passed? What was it that kept him from scrubbing away all these vile feelings? 

Why did he feel so _worthless?_

He twisted the handle on the right as far as it would go, turning the scalding water freezing in seconds after the left was turned back. For a second, the shock was a welcome distraction—jarring and bringing him back to where he was with one gasping, startling breath. And Yuta stood there. Shivering and alone.

No matter how tight he clenched his jaw, a sob still managed to break past his lips and echoed around the shower. All at once, everything was coming down around him. Chest too tight. Fingers wrapped around his throat.

Yuta barely managed to get his arm braced against the wall before his legs all but gave out on him, sending him falling to his knees and heaving into the drain below. Nothing but bile managed to make its way up from his convulsing stomach, but the dread stayed settled there, swallowing him from the inside out.

Disgusting. Yuta felt disgusting, and alone, and like he was never going to be whole again. The feeling only amplified itself as he spit into the drain, trying to clear his throat and stop his breath from catching in high whistles.

He could barely stay up, his knees aching and back going numb from the frigidness of the water. The chill was the only thing keeping him aware, grounding him in the same way the throbbing of his pulse in his neck was trying to set him afloat.

His head was spinning. Sobs breaking out between his chattering teeth, nails grasping at his arms in an attempt to hold himself together. He couldn’t think, couldn’t hold himself together, couldn’t get the dirt from his body or the bruises from his skin. 

It wasn’t fair. He had no right to feel this way, abandoned and discarded when he wasn’t even Johnny’s in the first place. It wasn’t fair of him to feel this way, all because he wasn’t strong enough to stand on his own, anymore. It wasn’t fair of him to be so upset, so fragile, when he had been the one to tell Johnny to leave.

Yuta knew that he was being stupid, and that made it so much worse; he knew how much he’s already burdened Taeyong and Johnny with, it wasn’t fair of him to expect them to carry this one as well.

Yuta was broken, and it wasn’t their place to hold his pieces together.

“Fucking— _Chirst,_ Yuta-hyung. Fuck, _fuck.”_

Yuta couldn’t stop the chattering of his teeth or the rattling of his bones when the smooth, hard, unforgiving tile of the shower was replaced by the rough texture of their bath mat as he was pulled from the spray. The freezing water belting down on his back was gone, he still felt like there was ice running through his veins, but Yuta knew the hands on his body. Familiar in all of the ways Johnny and Taeyong’s weren’t.

Without taking more than a second to breathe, more than a second to do anything but choke on a sob, Yuta all but _wailed_ out Mark’s name before throwing himself into his arms. No regard for his own exposure, or Mark’s willingness on the matter, because Yuta was sobbing hard enough that it didn’t fucking matter. 

“Yuta-hyung,” Mark breathed out, “Are you okay? I—You’re obviously not _okay,_ but—but are you—are you hurt? Are you okay?” 

Belatedly, Yuta wondered if Taeyong was fairing better than him. One of the most selfish thoughts he’s ever had followed, and Yuta did everything to clamp down on it and shove it away before it could truly come to fruition. _(‘I hope Johnny leaving for Taeyong was worth it.’)_

There was no answer to Mark’s question, at least, not one that Yuta was capable of providing. He didn’t really think he was capable of anything beyond twisting his shaking fingers in Mark’s shirt and crying harder. Not alone. Yuta wasn’t alone.

“Jungwoo!” Mark called, curling an arm around the back of Yuta’s head and bracing him against his chest. Yuta, honestly, felt seconds away from shaking out of his skin, but Mark’s arms around him left him feeling the most secure he has in what must have been years. “Bathroom, get in here!”

The urgency in Mark’s voice was apparent even to him, with his focus locked solely on the rapper’s other hand rubbing down his bare back, in a way that held no sexual intentions, but intimate all the same. Yuta exhaled, wet and shaky against Mark’s neck, before it caught on another sob.

He felt like his skin was stretched too tight over his bones, like he was being suffocated in his own body. It felt wrong, _he_ felt wrong. 

The hand over his back went tense, just for a moment, before it was being pulled away from his skin and Yuta couldn’t help but whine at the loss of contact, struggling slightly even as he was wrapped in a warm, dry towel.

 _“Yu-ta,”_ Jungwoo’s familiar lilt caught his attention, “It’s okay now. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Really, they should give more credit to Jungwoo; for all of his wailing and clinging and general nonsense, he truly was one of the most put together and thoughtful in the entire group.

Jungwoo’s arms snaked around his waist, Yuta could feel his muscles tensing before the ground fell out from below him. Jungwoo was standing, bringing Yuta up with him in an uncharacteristic show of strength, and all Yuta could do was sob brokenly against Jungwoo’s neck. The too-bright lights of the bathroom swayed, tilted, faded out, gone—only to be replaced with the dark of Yuta’s bedroom. He wanted to cry out. _No,_ he didn’t want to be here. _Here,_ where his bed sheets smelled like Johnny and all he could see was his back as he walked out of the door, away from Yuta and away from—

“Yuta-hyung,” Mark curled around his back the second he was placed on the bed, Yuta’s muscles immediately relaxed slightly as he turned into the younger man’s chest. Fingers began carding through his damp hair, gently untangling the strands as Jungwoo’s weight settled behind him. “What happened?” Mark quietly asked.

Yuta’s shoulders tensed defensively, only for a second, but it was enough for Jungwoo to notice and gently admonish Mark’s crassness.

“But,” Mark blurted out, “If it was something bad, wouldn’t it, like, be better to know? How else can we help?”

Yuta wanted to tell him, _‘You are helping, just by being here,’_ but words seemed to be failing him at the moment, so Yuta only sniffled and buried his face against Mark’s chest.

“It’s not our business,” Jungwoo argued back, his tone pointed but fingers still soothing as they continued to comb through Yuta’s hair, “Besides,” he grumbled, “I think I have an idea, anyway.”

Yuta barely heard the _‘Fucking Johnny,’_ Jungwoo mumbled under his breath, but it was enough for Yuta—weak-willed and far too emotionally invested—to whine at just the mention of his name. _Fuck,_ he was a mess.

“I saw Johnny leaving,” Jungwoo continued, voice toneless. Yuta shivered, feeling Jungwoo’s warm, lanky body pressing against his back not even a second later, “Whatever he did before he left…Whatever he said, I’ll—”

“I told him too,” Yuta quietly interjected, “Taeyong—Taeyong needed him. Said it was important.”

Jungwoo said something else, but Yuta had already succumbed to the exhaustion, unable to do more than hum in discontentment when the fingers stopped combing through his hair. Yuta was thankful to have people in his life he could count on in times like this, times that left him feeling raw and exposed, more vulnerable than he could ever remember feeling.

“Why couldn’t I have fallen for you, Mark?” Yuta mumbled against the rapper’s chest, smiling slightly at the startled hacking it caused, “Really…You would love me back, wouldn’t you?”

“I—” Mark swallowed, likely looking to Jungwoo for help, if the cackling Yuta heard behind him was any indication, “You know what? Yeah. I think I would love you back, hyung, if things were different.”

“You mean if I wasn’t broken already?”

That made Jungwoo stop laughing, the mood of the room going somber in seconds, “You’re not broken, Yuta. Don’t say that.”

“I mean, isn’t it true?” Yuta wondered. The feeling he had towards two people that were in a relationship with _each other_ was already a strike against him, but it was in addition to the fact that Yuta would be willing to lay anything and everything he had on the line, for their sake. Yuta’s own happiness didn’t matter. He could handle that, has been handling it for years, but even the thought of being the reason Taeyong and Johnny separated tore a massive, gaping hole in his chest. He couldn’t handle that. 

“No? I think it’s just part of you hyung,” Mark started, “You’ve always had more love than you knew what to do with. It doesn’t surprise me that it would be them. It was you three for a long time.”

Yuta opened his mouth to argue, but Mark continued on.

“Yeah, I was there too, sure, but…but it was different, you know? You guys saw me as your little brother, but there was always something different between you three. We’ve all noticed it. Seeing you grow as a person…seeing you smile and laugh with us…I think a lot of that is because of them? You, like, shine brightest with them. It just makes sense.”

Suddenly, Yuta was seventeen and alone, speaking Korean that came out broken and fractured to another trainee that held the same struggle as him, but Johnny still listened patiently and held Yuta’s words like they meant something.

Yuta was eighteen and Taeyong’s arms were around him for the first time, whispering soothing words and quiet promises as he pulled Yuta’s shaking body into his arms. Yuta understood at that moment. It was no wonder to Yuta why Johnny was in love with Taeyong, because Yuta was in love with him, too.

\\\\\

Yuta woke up sweating, gasping for air, and alone. Always alone. Yuta would always wake up alone. He didn’t even try to remember what it was he had been dreaming about; the chill of sweat drying on his skin that left him shivering, even though his blood felt like it was boiling in his veins, was obvious enough when combined with the tension in his muscles and the sensitivity of the sheets against his cock.

_‘You’re so pretty like this, little one,’ Johnny breathed against Yuta’s thigh, dipping lower to press a kiss just over his hole, making Yuta whine and clench around nothing, ‘All spread open for hyung, ready to take whatever I give you, like a good boy.’_

It was too bright. Yuta squeezed his eyes shut, hard enough to cause flashes of light to flicker behind his eyelids, like his body has been flooded with colors, and it had taken this much pressure to push it up towards the surface. Yuta wondered if he were to cut open his chest to show his heart to the two people he loved more than anything, if he would bleed beautiful golds and gentle lilacs, or if it would be the deep red he’s always known.

No other dream has made him feel like this, empty and lethargic, mind running rampant with images and thoughts that made his chest feel tight, made the bruises on his body ache worse than the night before. 

He reached out to check the time on his phone, fingers shaking almost too much to keep the device in his hands, but he managed to light his room with a sickly blue from his lockscreen. The picture of Mark pulling him back to their conversation the night prior, where they stood together in the practice room, with sweat dripping down their necks and muscles throbbing from exertion.

Yuta tried to kiss him. Yuta _did_ kiss him.

Thinking back on it, Yuta questioned every thought he had leading up to that action, but kissing Mark had been nothing like kissing Taeyong, nothing like kissing Johnny. Kissing Mark had been too much force and too much shock, the other boy freezing the second Yuta’s hands planted themselves on his shoulders and lips pressed against his own.

Yuta pulled away after a few seconds, too easily in comparison, with that same ache in his chest but none of the electricity he hoped to feel running through his veins.

He sighed, dropping his forehead against Mark’s shoulder with a quiet apology

_‘I think I would love you back, hyung, if things were different.’_

Thankfully, Mark hadn’t allowed Yuta to hide away in shame at kissing his younger groupmate, however red-faced the rapper had been when Jungwoo, Taeil, and Jaehyun were filled in on the situation, over several bottles of soju and three cartons of ice cream—one of which had been consumed entirely by Jungwoo—bringing them all up to speed with Yuta’s depressing lack of self-control and poor ability at taking care of himself.

However vulnerable it left him, far more open than he was comfortable with, Yuta still couldn’t help but feel a little less weighed down by it.

Except, that feeling was never meant to last, it seemed, as Mark’s grainy face on his lockscreen was soon covered with a text.

_‘Yukkuri~~Are you awake? Hyung is lonely and wants to talk (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ’_

It’s been a few days since Yuta’s truly talked to Taeyong or Johnny, but not without attempts on the couple’s end. Truthfully, Yuta hasn’t really spent time with anyone that wasn’t Mark or Jungwoo since that night Yuta had his little breakdown in the shower—Something that still made him feel embarrassed as hell to think about, so he tried not to.

This wasn’t a message he could just write off, either. Yuta had a feeling it held more weight than its jovial tone conveyed, and it wasn’t going to be just some lighthearted conversation. He sighed, taking his time to calm the trembling in his fingers before typing out a response.

_‘I’m awake, if you just wanted to get it over with.’_

_‘Perfect!! I’ll be up in a minute (ʃƪ ˘ ³˘)’_

True to his word, little more than a minute had passed before a quiet knock echoed throughout his room. Yuta didn’t bother getting out of bed, there didn’t really feel like a point, if Taeyong was only coming up to break Yuta’s heart. He doubted he would feel like doing much of anything after this, so it only made sense to stay comfortable like this.

“Yuta?”

“Door’s open.”

The wood creaked as it was moved, light from the hallway flooding in the otherwise dark space as Taeyong’s lithe form slipped inside. He looked tired, that was the first thing Yuta noticed, but still relaxed in a way that could only come from good sex and a hot bath.

Yuta wished the turning in his stomach wasn’t from resentment. 

“Oh, baby,” Taeyong’s sock-clad feet quietly padded across the floor, leaving Yuta with the most sickening sense of déjà vu as his palm cupped Yuta’s cheek before carding his fingers through his hair, “You look exhausted, Yukkuri. I’m sorry.”

Yuta opened his mouth to ask what he was apologizing for, but the words never quite made their way past his lips. Instead, they caught in his throat, keeping him unable to do anything more than blink up at the older man with unfocused eyes.

“You’ve probably been feeling pretty crappy for the last few days, huh?” Taeyong asked, sighing when Yuta gave a small nod, “We should have been better. I’m sorry.”

“You’re not…mad?” _For what?_ Yuta wasn’t actually sure what he was asking, either.

“How could I be mad at you for something that was entirely our fault?” Taeyong’s voice took on an incredulous tone, like he couldn’t believe Yuta would even ask such a question, “Jungwoo told us what happened. Johnny beat himself up for hours after we found out. He thinks you’re upset with him.”

Surprised, Yuta shook his head frantically, scrambling to push himself up onto his forearms, “N-No—I’m not—I’m not upset with him. I told him to go. You needed him—”

 _“You_ needed him too, Yuta,” Taeyong cut him off, “I would have been fine. I very easily could have called Doyoung, or even Kun, to get me. You needed Johnny here to take care of you, and it was a fault on our end, not yours. You trusted us, and we let you down.”

“No,” Yuta shook his head _again,_ kept going until Taeyong’s icy fingers held his head in place, forcing their eyes to meet, “That’s not—not what happened, ‘Yong. _No.”_

“It was.” 

Taeyong’s tone left no room for arguments. Yuta stopped trying.

“Let me make it up to you?” 

_‘There’s nothing to make up,’_ Yuta thought, _‘It was my fault.’_

“Come downstairs with me,” Taeyong proposed, “Everyone’s out right now, and I made too much hot chocolate for just myself.”

Yuta’s heart gave a resounding _thump_ as he watched Taeyong shift his weight on the edge of the mattress, legs crossing and uncrossing at the ankles.

“C’mon, Yuta. Having to listen to Jaehyun and Jungwoo yelling can’t be much fun…And I don’t want to be alone,” Taeyong pouted this time, and _again,_ Yuta’s heart felt like it was doing cartwheels in his chest.

Where had the serious man from only seconds before gone? The one reprimanding him for not taking care of himself, for not telling them when he was hurting. Taeyong seemed like two completely different people to him, sometimes, and Yuta was still learning how to balance between the two without being pulled apart.

“Fine. But I’m doing this for the hot chocolate,” Yuta relented. He pushed himself off his bed, trying to squeeze past the leader without too much contact between them.

He didn’t really succeed.

“Have as much as you want,” Taeyong chuckled, wrapping his arms around Yuta’s waist and forcing the pair to waddle through the hallway, “I guess I’m just so used to Johnny always being with me. I didn’t even think about it before I made a whole pot,” he sheepishly admitted. 

Ah. There it was. 

Taeyong didn’t make too much. He made the perfect amount. The perfect amount for him and Johnny to share. 

Yuta was merely an afterthought. 

He was glad Taeyong couldn’t see the smile slip off his face, but there was no way he missed Yuta’s shoulders tensing up under his chin. Neither prompted him to say anything, so Yuta stayed silent as well. 

“On second thought,” Taeyong muttered upon opening the door to the dorm and seeing Donghyuck and Mark sitting on the couch, drinking what looked suspiciously like hot chocolate with sheepish smiles, “Maybe we can just head to my room?”

Yuta barely managed to shoot Mark a smile when he noticed the younger boy’s worried look, but he wasn’t quite sure if it conveyed _‘I’m fine’_ or _‘Save me.’_

“That’s fine,” Yuta murmured. He let Taeyong lead him by the wrist, pulling him into the room and shutting the door behind them. 

Taeyong’s room held such an intense air of comfort, just looking at the scribbles on his walls, or all of the figurines and pictures cluttering his shelf—and yet, Yuta couldn’t help but feel out of place. This was Taeyong’s space, one that he shared with Johnny, most nights. Yuta swore he could smell the menthol and rose aftershave, the same one that seemed to permeate his sheets, but so much more intense here.

Without thinking, Yuta crawled onto the bed after Taeyong, straddling the other man’s hips and settling his weight over the rapper’s lap. The way Yuta kissed him was almost aggressive, and Taeyong let him take control for all but a few seconds before placing a hand on the back of his neck and _squeezing._ Wet and messy and _broken,_ Yuta leaving no part of Taeyong’s mouth unexplored by his tongue.

“Oh?” Taeyong raised an eyebrow, hands coming to rest on Yuta’s waist, “What’s this?”

 _This_ was Yuta trying to prove his worth, in the only way he knew how. This was Yuta, desperate to show Taeyong that he had a purpose, he had value, even if it was purely physical. 

“Yuta…”

“Want you,” Yuta mumbled, “Anything you’ll give me.”

Had it been anyone else—anyone that Yuta hadn’t spent the past 6 years of his life in love with—he likely wouldn’t have noticed the flash of emotion darkening Taeyong’s eyes for just the briefest second, but this wasn’t anyone else. This was Taeyong. 

That fleeting moment of hesitation was enough for Yuta to freeze, the barely-there motion of his hips stopping alongside his breathing. 

Did he read the situation wrong? Was this not what Taeyong wanted him for?

“Yukkuri, baby, stop.”

Yuta squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to hear the disappointment coloring Taeyong’s voice. Not good enough. Needed to be better. Needed to be good enough. Needed to be wanted. Wanted to be needed.

That’s what hurt the most.

Taeyong and Johnny had been together for 5 years by now, contently sure in their relationship. They didn’t _need_ Yuta, but he was wanted, on occasion, and that was fine. Yuta needed to be wanted, and he was. 

Wasn’t he?

But—Taeyong didn’t want him, right? That was why he told Yuta to stop. Taeyong didn’t want Yuta, at least not right now, but then…why had he called Yuta down here? Why had he gone out of his way to see him?

_To talk._

Taeyong said he wanted to talk. What else could he want to talk about, other than ending whatever Yuta had with him and Johnny? _God,_ Yuta hoped he hadn’t caused any burden or strain on their relationship. Even the thought of that…

Yuta couldn’t bear it.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Taeyong cooed, “Yu, look at hyung. Yukkuri, hyung wants you to look at him.”

_Look at him. Just look at Taeyong, dammit._

Yuta couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. Distantly, he heard a muted whimper—Had that come from him? It was hard to tell, hard to hear anything over the static in his own head, but somehow, Taeyong’s voice still managed to permeate that fog.

“Shhhh, baby,” Taeyong murmured, pulling Yuta’s stiff body against his own, “Whatever you’re thinking, hyung wants you to stop, okay? You don’t have to open your eyes, that’s fine. Hyung will handle everything. I think you’re still a little off-balance from what happened with Johnny.”

Again, Yuta felt himself deflate at Taeyong’s tone, unsure of himself and his actions and his fucking _place_ in life. 

“Do you want me to call Youngho?”

How could Yuta be expected to answer that? Of course, he wanted Youngho with him—but if he was busy, then Yuta didn’t want to be needy or selfish and take him away from that. Yuta wasn’t a priority for him, not like Taeyong was, and that was fine. That was to be expected.

“I’m calling Youngho, okay? C’mere.”

Without another noise of disagreement and eyes still shut, Yuta let himself be folded into Taeyong’s arms, tucking his own limbs close to his body to fit against the rapper’s thin frame. Taeyong was boney, not at all like Johnny’s firm muscles, but Yuta couldn’t help but think about how nice the fingers gently scratching at the nape of his neck felt, or the sound of Taeyong’s heartbeat echoing loudly in his ear.

He felt himself drifting almost immediately, lost to the low rumble of Taeyong’s voice, and his gentle, _‘Hey, love, can you come home? We need you back here, baby.’_ Yuta was lost to it all.

Nothing mattered, outside Taeyong’s cold fingers pressing into his back, finding all of the sorest places within seconds and turning him to putty. Almost as though Yuta’s one defense, his detachment to those around him, was flawed from the beginning. From the second Taeyong took him into his arms, and whispered gentle assurances to him.

Yuta just wished he had something more to offer than broken pleas and a body that he no longer recognized as his own, not when everything felt like it’s fallen from his control and slipped through his fingers.

“Yuta? You with us, little one?”

“Youngho?” Yuta felt himself mumble, before he could truly process the third presence in the room, but his near-soundless inquiry was lost in the flutter of Taeyong and Johnny’s whispers overhead. He caught small snippets of their conversation, blinking himself back into awareness.

“He’s shaking,” Johnny’s dismay was audible in his voice, even Yuta would have to be deaf to miss that, and he couldn’t help the small flutter in his otherwise hollow-feeling chest at the prospect of Johnny being worried for him.

Except, it only made sense for Johnny to worry. Yuta was, after all, a mess; and Johnny was, after all, far too caring for his own good. 

Taeyong hummed, Yuta shivered when he felt the rumble of the man’s chest against his cheek, “I think it’s been this bad since the other night, when you left to get me,” he said, fingers brushing through Yuta’s hair and nails gently scratching at his scalp, “I shouldn’t have called you. I should have just…handled it on my own.”

“You shouldn’t _have_ to, Taeyong,” Johnny argued back, “I—I shouldn’t have…I shouldn’t have…” He trailed off again, letting out a sigh in frustration before Yuta felt the bed shift and the mattress creak under the added weight. Johnny was silent for several seconds, before seemingly finally deciding on, “I don’t know what to do. I just…don’t know what to do…”

That moment, following the waver in Johnny’s voice, was when Yuta finally seemed to gain control back of his body, lifting a lead-heavy arm to wrap stiff fingers around Johnny’s wrist. Words still didn’t quite seem within reach yet, but that was fine. Johnny understood him beyond the limitation of language; one of the (several) things Yuta fell in love with the man because of.

He didn’t have to say anything for Johnny to understand, to pull Yuta into his arms with a strength and ease that would normally make him feel hot, but now only made his body go cold. Numb with the ice that ran through his veins. He felt…He wasn’t even sure how he felt, and that might have been the worst part. The body that he’s known for 25 years, the body that has been his and solely his, now seemed to be fighting against him. Always.

Yuta wasn’t breathing right. It was too sharp and too shallow and too disconnected, even he could tell. He didn’t know his own body anymore, but maybe that was because it no longer belonged to him. It belonged to Taeyong, it belonged to Johnny. It was all Yuta had to give them. It was all they wanted from him.

Taeyong’s gentle, cautious hands lifting Yuta’s hoodie and pulling the heavy fabric over his head with no help from the man wearing it, as Yuta was more focused on covering his neck and shoulders than making things easier for Taeyong, selfishly wanting to hide the marks on the body that was no longer his own.

Squeezing his eyes shut once again at Johnny’s small, wounded noise, Yuta wished to be anywhere but here. He knew what they were seeing. 

Red trails crisscrossing over his chest, his arms, his shoulders—some faint, some as dark as when he created them—covering and surround the hickeys that Johnny left on his body (not Yuta’s body, not anymore) some nights ago, staining his skin like ink on paper.

Yuta, each time he looked at himself in the mirror and saw the remnants of Johnny’s _want,_ had felt sick. He tried to scratch them off, but it hadn’t worked. Even after the bruises began to fade somewhat, Yuta could still see them clearly. The marks were the final sign, the sign that confirmed this body was no longer his.

He didn’t want them to see him like this. Ashamed of himself and frightened, trying to hide away like a wounded animal.

“Yukkuri,” Taeyong took his face between his palms, pressing their foreheads together as his thumbs stroked over tacky cheeks, “Your body is art, love, not something to be ashamed of.”

Yuta shook his head, unwilling to listen to Taeyong’s perfidious niceties, all with the sole priority of pacifying him. He was ashamed of the body he no longer held connections to, the body he wanted nothing to do with, if it wasn’t even enough to keep them from leaving him.

“I’m sorry I left, Yuta,” Johnny said, but Yuta only shook his head again. He didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to believe it. Didn’t want to have hope for something that was only going to break his heart.

Taeyong plastered himself against Yuta’s back, pressing him against Johnny’s firm body and knocking the residual air from his lungs. Heavy and solid—Until all Yuta could focus on was the expanding and contracting of two chests against his own, the beating of two hearts against his own. 

Yuta finally felt like he could breathe.

\\\\\

“You were my first,” Yuta mumbled, sometime later, hours after he had shaken apart in Johnny’s arms, with Taeyong’s presence against his back keeping him grounded.

It was a quiet admittance, but one he realized held more weight than he would have thought, if the sudden tenseness in both of the other men’s bodies was any indication. Yuta feared it to be something he should have held close, kept to himself and away from them.

“I…I was?” Taeyong was unable to keep the shock from coloring his voice, “I thought—”

“I slept around a lot?” Yuta croaked, chuckling self-deprecatingly when Taeyong’s silence only proved him right, “Yeah, most people do.”

Taeyong shook his head, “That’s not what’s important,” he settled on, rubbing the palm of his hand reassuringly over Yuta’s back, “I don’t care about how many people you have or haven’t slept with, Yuta. Now, I’m honored that I was your first—” Yuta snorted. “—But I hope, going forward, that it’s just me and Johnny…?” He trailed off, sounding just as unsure as Yuta felt. 

Yuta looked to Johnny for clarity, in the hopes that something would start making sense. _Just Taeyong and Johnny?_ As in, like, _exclusively_ Taeyong and Johnny? With Yuta? With…Yuta? 

He didn’t want to get his hopes up, but at the same time, he was sick and tired of always assuming the worst, but years of his fears coming true had caught up to him and his sense of optimism was promptly squashed.

“Please, don’t play with me,” Yuta lifted himself away from Johnny’s chest, “I—You can’t—I need to know what that _means,_ Taeyong, I—I can’t—”

“It means we love you,” Johnny cut in, making Yuta draw in a breath at the fingers squeezing his waist, almost possessively, “And we want to be with you, and you to be with us.”

Yuta went silent, letting Johnny’s words fill that previously hollowed out space in his chest, sitting there until he was able to breathe, able to think, able to understand.

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“But…Why?”

Johnny let out an incredulous little huff of air, almost (but not quite) a chuckle, “Because we love you? And you love us? Unless we’ve been reading it wrong, then just, like, feel free to ignore this.”

Yuta was absolutely _not_ going to ignore this.

“Say it—” Yuta swallowed, looking down at his hands resting against Johnny’s stomach to balance himself in the older man’s lap, “Say it again. Please.”

Johnny _did_ chuckle this time, shaking him with the movement before Taeyong’s arms around his shoulders could still him, “Yukkuri~” Taeyong cooed, pressing a wet kiss against Yuta’s cheek, “I love you.”

“I love you too, little one,” Johnny grinned, “Both of you. So, so much.”

Yuta couldn’t hold the tears back anymore. Didn’t even try to hold them back. He sniffled once, twice, a third time, and then the dam broke. Tears running down his face and desperate sobs forcing him forward as he buried his face into Johnny’s neck. 

Each wet, gasping inhale was like a weight off his chest. Yuta could honestly, _truly,_ breathe. 

“Kiss me,” Yuta cried, not a single bit concerned with the fact that he was still crying like a fucking baby when Taeyong’s hands were cupping his face and Taeyong’s lips were against his and _Taeyong loved him._ Taeyong loved Yuta, and Johnny loved Yuta.

And, fuck, did Yuta love them. So much it hurt, sometimes.

“My turn,” Johnny said as Taeyong sat back, barely giving Yuta a chance to breathe before his head was tilted back and Johnny’s tongue was swiping across the seam of his lips. His hand flew up, tangling in Johnny’s hair and Yuta was lost to the feeling, helpless to do anything else.

He loved Johnny’s lips. He loved Johnny’s lips more than anything, except maybe the man’s smile, or Taeyong’s eyes and how expressive they were and how much fucking _love_ they held. Love that Yuta didn’t have to covet in secret any longer.

“Say it again,” Yuta pleaded against Johnny’s lips, desperately pulling the older man closer by the fingers tangled in dark, silky hair as he trembled and trembled and _trembled._ Johnny held him through it, kissed him through it, swallowing down Yuta’s breathless noises and quiet moans when Taeyong began kissing along his neck, following the trails of scarlet still painting his skin.

Taeyong stroked Yuta’s hips, a stray hand wandering up under his tank top and rolling his nipple under the pads of his fingers.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” Yuta couldn’t help but gasp when Johnny was soon replaced by Taeyong, turning Yuta to face him as he kissed away the tears that continued to leisurely fall down his cheeks. “I want you, please.”

Johnny mumbled something in Taeyong’s ear, not quite loud enough for Yuta to hear it and any other time, that would do nothing but make him feel insecure and left out, but no longer was he blind to the absolute _want_ darkening Taeyong’s eyes.

He didn’t have much of a chance to worry about it, anyway, because Johnny’s hand was down his shorts and wrapping around his cock, thumb teasing over his piercing in a way that was becoming almost practiced the more familiar Johnny got with Yuta’s body.

Yuta turned his face into Taeyong’s neck, trying to muffle the moans of pleasure by mouthing at the older man’s neck before he head was tilted up and Taeyong’s mouth was pressing against his again and Taeyong’s tongue was licking into his mouth and it was good, it was so good Yuta wasn’t sure it was even real. Wasn’t sure Taeyong and Johnny were real.

They couldn’t be. This feeling was too perfect to be true—but, at the same time, how could it _not_ be real? The pleasure coursing through his veins like lightning. The way his body trembled under both sets of hands on him. It had to be real. It had to be.

Yuta just felt so warm and soft and safe in their arms, he felt like he’d never have to worry about anything ever again, and that was dangerous. The extent at which Yuta loved them was dangerous, but he wasn’t afraid. Not anymore.

“Fuck, Yuta—”

“Please do,” Yuta murmured against Taeyong’s lips, making the man pull away to snicker. Johnny took the opportunity to kiss him quiet, his fingers pressing against Taeyong’s sharp jaw while his hips rocked against Yuta’s.

It was perfect. It was exciting. It was everything Yuta wanted. Everything Yuta needed. 

Yuta took this as a chance to breathe, get his bearings straight, figure out which way was fucking up and which way was down and, _fuck,_ Johnny’s hand on his dick wasn’t letting him do that.

“Can I?” Johnny finally turned back to him, “Can I fuck you, little one? Is that what you want?”

 _“God,_ yes. _Please,”_ Yuta absolutely wasn’t begging. He _wasn’t._

He was. He absolutely was begging.

Taeyong hummed, “You could fuck me after,” he suggested, like hadn’t caused Yuta’s brain to short-circuit and reroute itself, “I want to find out just how that piercing feels in action.”

Yuta didn’t say anything—couldn’t even if he tried, probably—but he was sure Taeyong got the message by the way Yuta blushed bright red and pressed his face into Johnny’s neck to hide his hot cheeks and likely lust-blown eyes. 

He felt Johnny’s soft laughter more than heard it, “God, you’re so precious. I love you,” he said, grip tightening on Yuta’s hips and breathing ragged as he rolled his hips, rocking against Yuta’s body with a quiet groan.

This time, Yuta was the one to capture Johnny’s mouth, swallowing each gasp and pant he let out as he circled his hips and ground down on him.

“Fuck—Someone do something,” Taeyong whined, palming himself through his pants and, just like that, everything shifted.

Clothes were pulled off in a blind haze of lust, strewn about on the floor as limbs tangled and locked and pushed and pulled and, suddenly, Yuta found himself on his hands and knees with Taeyong’s cock in his mouth and Johnny’s tongue in his ass and Yuta forgot how to _breathe._

“You’re so fucking beautiful, little one,” Johnny pulled away, panting slightly, hot air against Yuta’s hole nearly making him bite down on Taeyong’s dick, “Pretty, just like this. Just for us.”

_Just for us._

Yuta was theirs. They were Yuta’s. It still felt surreal. Yuta hoped they never grew tired of him, selfishly needed them to need him back. 

Johnny’s tongue went back to lapping over his hole, big hands spreading him apart and thumbs dipping past his rim, ripping a loud, heady whine from Yuta’s chest at the same time Taeyong’s hips bucked up. Yuta gagged slightly at the unexpected action, but wordlessly gave his head the slightest shake when asked if he wanted to stop.

Taeyong took his answer as it was, threading his fingers back into Yuta’s hair and guiding him up and down and up and down over the length of his cock. One of Johnny’s fingers joined his tongue before he pulled back once more to breathe, leaving sloppy, wet, open-mouth kisses against Yuta’s lower back as he pumped that finger in and out several times. Yuta whined, begging Johnny for another, for _more._ He needed more. Needed Johnny. Needed Taeyong.

“You have us, baby,” Taeyong assured, thumb swiping over Yuta’s swollen lips as he pulled off. His hands cupped his face, holding Yuta steady between his palms. Like he was something precious. Like he was something to cherish. 

Yuta wondered if he suffered enough to deserve someone like Taeyong. If he’s done anything in his life that left him deserving of someone like Johnny. Both compassionate and understanding, far past Yuta’s realm of existence.

“Still want me to fuck you, little one?” Johnny asked, three fingers deep and relentless in his teasing and twisting and touching of all of Yuta’s most sensitive places.

 _“God,_ yes,” Yuta eagerly, breathlessly, gasped out. He nearly choked on the moan that forced its way out of his chest when Johnny’s hands on his waist flipped him around like he weighed nothing, pinning him against the mattress, “W-Want to ride you.”

“Hear that Youngho?” Taeyong grinned, “He wants to ride you,” and then, faux-whispering to Yuta, “Those are the magic words for Johnny-ah. Sadly, I never last long enough for the leg pain to be worthwhile.”

Johnny playfully swatted at Taeyong’s thigh, “Quiet, you, and just help me out here.”

Taeyong, ever the tease, took his time when lubing Johnny’s cock up, wrist twisting languidly in the effort of drawing as many long, low groans from the eldest as possible before reaching for Yuta. Eager hands leading and positioning, until Yuta was gingerly held over Johnny’s lap once again, arms around his neck and grinding down against the firm thigh between his own. Yuta pushed his hips forward, gasping airily when the head of Johnny’s cock caught against his rim.

He lifted his hips, thighs already trembling with the effort of holding himself up, when Taeyong gently patted him on the thigh before guiding him up and over the head of Johnny’s cock. He let out a needy whine, one that quickly turned into a wince as he slowly sunk down. Johnny was thicker than Taeyong, Yuta had known that before they ever slept together—yet, experiencing it made it real, somehow, when he had to pause halfway to take a deep breath and relax himself.

Johnny pressed a reassuring kiss to his jaw while Taeyong rubbed soothing circles on his lower back with his thumbs. “Don’t rush it, little one,” Johnny said, brushing Yuta’s sweaty hair away from his forehead, “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Yuta nodded, before blowing out another breath and continuing down, taking Johnny in inch by inch. The stretch was different than with Taeyong, but maybe that was because Yuta had a better idea of what to expect, this time around. 

A pair of lips pressed against the nape of his neck, “You’re taking him so well, Yukkuri. You don’t have to prove anything to us. Okay, baby?” He snaked an arm around Yuta’s waist from behind, fingers gently running over his stomach, ghosting over the metal bar embedded in his skin before moving up, up, up. Feather-light over his nipple, and Yuta was once again reminded of Johnny’s comment the other day.

He didn’t want to think about that night, not now, not when he could arch his body into Taeyong’s touch, finally taking all of Johnny and feeling that same breathless feeling take over his body.

And then Johnny moved.

Fuck fireworks, these weren’t fireworks. These were landmines settled between each of Yuta’s ribs. He gripped Johnny’s thighs, desperately willing himself to stay present, to not let his eyes roll to the back of his head in pleasure. He wanted to remember this moment for as long as he could, as long as he was allowed. He wanted the feeling of Johnny pressing into him to be forever ingrained in his memory—the dull throbbing at the base of his spine, the almost too-painful stretch that even three of Johnny’s fingers couldn’t prevent. 

It was like nothing Yuta had ever felt. Johnny filled him so completely that Yuta had nowhere to go, even as he kept his movements slow and shallow, giving Yuta the chance to get used to the feeling. He couldn’t help but clutch at Johnny’s shoulders, gasping out whatever broken iterations of _“So big, Youngho,”_ or _“You feel so good, hyung.”_

“Doesn’t he?” Taeyong murmured against Yuta’s shoulder, teeth grazing the previously unmarked space there before his lips found a new spot just below the curve of his jaw, lightly sucking sunsets into his skin while Yuta steadied himself.

He still couldn’t believe it.

“Fuck,” Johnny let out a low groan, fingers digging into Yuta’s hips when he slowly raised himself up, both lost to the feeling. How tight Yuta was, the drag of Johnny’s cock inside. The resistance slowly giving way to a more comfortable slide with each rise and fall.

It was desperate, it was uncoordinated, it was perfect to Yuta. He wished it would never end, and _knew_ that meant slowing down, giving himself the chance to take his time, let Johnny really take him apart—but patience was never really a virtue he possessed.

He wasn’t the only one, it seemed, when Johnny’s hips pushing up into him was just as fast, the sound of his skin against Yuta’s resonating throughout the room. Taeyong’s hands never paused in their roaming, scratching down his chest and over his nipples, clawing at his thighs, rubbing the dips of his waist until finally settling against his stomach.

Yuta would have to file that area away in _‘Erogenous Zones I didn’t know about until sleeping with Taeyong and Johnny’_ to unpack at a later date, because the moan he let out when Taeyong so much as twisted the bar of his piercing would make little sense, otherwise.

“Youngho,” Taeyong cooed, “Look down, baby.”

The words hadn’t been aimed at him, but Yuta found himself following anyway, looking down at Taeyong’s hand resting on his lower stomach and— _Oh,_ that was why. 

When Taeyong moved his hand, Yuta couldn’t help but let out a quiet breath at the sight of the slight protrusion, which only became more prominent when he leaned back into Taeyong, and then again when Johnny began to fuck upwards with as much force as the angle and Yuta’s weight would allow.

 _“God—”_ Yuta groaned, dropping his head back against Taeyong’s shoulder before turning his nose into the man’s neck as Johnny guided his hips in slow circles. “Please. Please, please, please—”

His tongue felt heavy in his mouth; he wasn’t even sure if the words he said had been real words, let alone clear enough to understand. He didn’t even know what he was pleading for.

“Slowly, Yukkuri,” Taeyong reminded him, “There’s no rush. We’re not gonna leave you, love.”

_Slowly. Slowly. Slowly._

Yuta didn’t know how much longer he could last. 

Hurried gasps. Quiet groans. Skin against skin and fingers digging in, tangled in sheets. Yuta felt every tight, painful grip he once had on his own heart begin to pull away, no longer trying to tear the love from his own chest to hide away, lest he find himself broken and lost before them.

He tore his hands away, taking with it whatever half-cast illusion of control he’s spent years feeding himself, lies and falsehoods of _‘I’m okay, really. Don’t worry.’_ He let go of it. Of all of it.

 _“Yuta,”_ Johnny moaned out, brokenly, voice wrecked and shattered and Yuta couldn’t stop the _pride_ from blooming in his chest because _he did that._ Yuta crushed their mouths together with more force than necessary, but then Johnny was spilling inside of him and Taeyong’s fingers were still teasing at his nipples and Yuta was shaking and trembling and _whimpering_ into Johnny’s mouth, hips rolling and rolling and rolling. Desperately chasing his own orgasm and trying to draw out every last drop of Johnny’s in the process. 

He nearly screamed when Taeyong’s hand fisted over his cock, long fingers wrapping around his length and barely a second had to have gone by before Yuta was spilling over Taeyong’s fingers and Johnny’s abs.

“Fuck,” Johnny breathed out, after several breathless minutes, not bothering to pull out before laying back and pulling Yuta against his chest. It was only natural of Taeyong to follow after, pulling the (slightly soiled) sheets up and over their bodies as he settled in next to them, quietly combing his fingers through Yuta’s sweaty, damp hair.

Johnny’s heart was beating like a drum under Yuta’s ear; a heavy, strong bass that he couldn’t help but let lull him to sleep. He wondered if the moments after would always be quiet like this. Yuta hoped so.

Johnny somehow always knew what Yuta needed without him ever having to say, even from the beginning—Yuta had the feeling a lot of that was how reliant they had been on body language when they first became acquainted. Taeyong knew how to make it happen. Anything Yuta needed, Taeyong would find a way to acquire it for him.

Yuta felt nothing but _love,_ in that moment.

Belatedly, he hoped Taeyong wouldn’t be too disappointed, since there was no way Yuta was going to be able to stop himself from drifting off within the coming minutes, but then he remembered that this wasn’t the end. Yuta wasn’t going anywhere.

Neither was Johnny. Neither was Taeyong.

They both just held him, touched him, reminding Yuta that they were there and he wasn’t alone, which he couldn’t help but find soothing, in a way. Letting him slowly drift without fear of being lost to the waves.

The last thing Yuta heard before succumbing to sleep was Taeyong’s voice, low and soft and gentle. There was a good chance Yuta wouldn’t remember what had been said when morning came, but that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, because they would tell him again. And again. And again. 

For the rest of their lives.

\\\\\

_They were perfect opposites—They were three of a kind._

Love will always find a way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if the endings bad, but yall should know by now i tend to leave things on more of an open resolution than anything,,,,,so  
> not to mention i finished it at 2AM last night after making friends with a wine bottle so i cant be held responsible u hear me
> 
> is this where i drop everything to write a johnjae? i think so

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are always appreciated~~
> 
> follow me on Twitter [@MVforVictory](https://twitter.com/MVforVictory) yeet


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